Bless the Broken Road
by PsychicWonderKitty
Summary: “If I didn’t know you? I’d want to hunt you.” If the first half of this statement from Dean to Sam was reality...would the second half be, as well? Largely AU...with a fair amount of canon elements and twists.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: It's a new year, it's a new decade…but despite that, _Supernatural_ and those wonderful Winchesters have no new owner. It all still belongs to Eric Kripke and company, except for a couple of OCs who are my own…no copyright infringement is intended.

SPOILERS: The action and character history in this story is considerably AU, but spoilers for major events in Seasons 1 and 2, and a specific element of Season 4, are possible throughout.

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**Bless the Broken Road**

SUMMARY: _"If I didn't know you? I'd want to hunt you." If the first half of this statement from Dean to Sam was reality…would the second half be, as well? Largely AU…with a fair amount of canon elements and twists. _

**Chapter 1**

---_Lawrence, Kansas, November 1983---_

"Mr. Winchester…? Mr. Winchester."

The dazed man on the bed raised his head from where it had been resting in his hands upon being addressed, and Nurse Teresa Nichols decided right then and there that she had never seen such a haunted man in her three years of working at Lawrence Memorial Hospital. Bloodshot, red-rimmed dark eyes met her own blue ones as he rasped out a response, his voice rough from smoke inhalation and tears.

"Please…call me John."

Teresa's voice softened. "Okay, John. You—"

"How is my son?" came the immediate interruption, and the young woman's heart ached for the man.

"Your older son, Dean. Right?" She continued at John's silent nod. "I'm afraid I don't know the specifics on him at the moment, but the last I heard he was still unconscious from his head injury…but you don't need to worry, John, all right? Your son is in very good hands." But the man remained quiet, not even looking at her, and Teresa put her focus back on the reason she had come to see him. "John…are you up for a visitor?"

"No." The young father didn't waste a second in answering, and the nurse injected some levity into her tone.

"Oh, I think you_ will_ be up for this one, actually…this little man's been waiting to see you for quite a while now."

Hope flooded the dark eyes for an instant. "Dean…?"

Teresa's brow furrowed in surprise at the remark, a pang briefly flaring in her chest. "No, John…Dean's still in PICU, remember?" She couldn't tell if the man did or not, but for the sake of the baby she'd been helping to care for, she prayed a temporary lapse in memory was all it was. "But I have someone else here with me that I'm sure you've also been worried about."

On cue, another nurse came into the room holding and cooing to a light blue bundle cradled in her arms, which she carefully gave to Teresa after a few more soft words and a brief tickle of a tiny nose. Nodding at the older woman's parting directive to bring him back within the hour, the young nurse gently rested the fragile bundle against her chest and smiled adoringly at the little face peering out from the blanket's folds, huge blue-green eyes wary and weary. "Hey there, sweetheart," she whispered brightly. "I think you've been away from your daddy long enough, don't you? So what you do say we fix that, huh?"

After a slight and somewhat selfish hesitation to let go of the precious young life in her arms, she gingerly placed the infant in the grasp of his father, which instinctively steadied and settled upon the sensation of the warm weight within it. And his voice choked out another name.

"Sammy…?"

Teresa smiled. "Your baby's been missing you, John." She stepped forward to run a soothing hand over the little one's soft brown curls, the fine hairs just starting to cover the tiny head. "He's been an absolute angel for us though, sweet as can be…we girls are really gonna miss him when you get to take him ho—take him…_with you_."

But John Winchester didn't respond to this…just continued to stare into his youngest child's sleepily blinking eyes with a disturbing blankness in his own. Not even when the baby began to coo and gurgle in apparent excitement to see his father, did the man show any sort of emotion in turn. Teresa made a mental note to come get the baby sooner than planned.

"Well, John, I'll leave you and Sammy alone while I go check and see if there's any further word on Dean for you, okay? I'll bring his doctor with me." Once again, no answer came other than the squeaking of bedsprings as John lay back on his hospital bed, Sammy wrapped in his arms held close against his chest, and Teresa finally left with one last stroke of the infant's head.

Locked deep inside his own thoughts, his own contact with his baby practically on autopilot, John Winchester continued to gaze emptily…at the walls, at the bed covers, at the tiny body nestled below his chin…at the door to his room beyond which was his other son. Anywhere but at the ceiling…where he had seen his beloved wife sliced open at the stomach and burned to death mere hours before.

He had no damn explanation for what had happened. How it had happened…_why_ it had happened. And hours came to pass. Hours, and hours, and hours in which this cold hard fact remained. Hours in which Sammy came and went, courtesy of the nurses, and in which he finally got news of his older son, Dean…but the news had not been good.

The four year-old had taken a nasty fall on the stairs as he'd carried his baby brother out of the house upon John's frantic orders, a fall during which he heroically and miraculously was able to shield the infant from the impact. But unfortunately, that had left no shield for Dean himself…his head had struck the bottom step. John had watched it happen, helpless to stop it…numb from the shock of what had just happened to his precious Mary, and petrified with fear of what was _about _to happen to his equally precious boys before his eyes. The crack had been sickening, the baby's cries piercing amongst the roar of the flames consuming both his nursery and his mother, and that knowledge alone had spurred John down the stairs at rapid speed, where he had scooped one son into each arm…refusing to let the fire take anymore from him than it had already taken.

Both John and Sam had been lucky, only suffering mild smoke inhalation and a couple of bruises from the fall in Sam's case. But the fall had taken much more of a toll on Dean…John had been informed that his eldest was in a coma, and even though he was thankfully expected to come out of it within the week, memory loss was a serious possibility.

And John couldn't decide whether that would be a curse or a blessing in the end. There were many things he wanted Dean to remember, most of them centering on Mary and the devoted, wonderful mother she had been to him. But there were now things that he most certainly did _not_ want his son to remember as well, especially while he was still just a kid…the horrible night of the fire and the accident chief among them. But there was also one other thing he _never_ wanted Dean to remember…

And it was why – still numb to everything but his grief over Mary's death and Dean's absence – John ultimately convinced the hospital staff to release him for a brief journey a couple of days later. He had no close relatives that he trusted with the job, on either his side or Mary's, and divulging that fact to his caregivers had helped to obtain him permission to take a day's drive up to Nebraska…where the boys' grandparents lived, in order to leave the baby in their loving care until Dean and he were both back on their feet.

Or at least, that's what he had _told _the hospital staff.

The truth was though, that the only thing in Nebraska of interest to John was a women and children's shelter. True, he was sure there was one somewhere less out of the way in Kansas, but John wanted to get out of the damn state if only for a day…so Nebraska was where he went.

And Nebraska was where – with a heart heavy with shame and guilt but also firm in resolve – he left his six month-old son, his baby Sammy. With a name tag pinned to his light blue blanket, a loud and persistent knocking upon the shelter's door until he heard footsteps approaching from within the building…and not a single look back as he dashed across the street to his waiting Impala, tears profusely falling from his eyes.

He needed to find answers. And two sons were one too many children to be dragging along on that likely long and arduous quest. It would be for the better.

For all three of them.

TBC…

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A/N: Well, I'm back a LOT sooner than it took me to return last time! LOL. This sit-there-idly-except-when-working-out (and I _do_ work out, trust me!) fitness center receptionist job is doing wonders for my fanfic writing, hee… Anyway, that's the start to this one; next chapter will delve into the present day and be much longer, as will all the following chapters. And I'm sorry to any John fans…he had to do what he did for the sake of this story, awful as it was!

I hope this very AU beginning to the saga of Sam and Dean (no angels or Ruby in this one, folks, just the boys and a few other popular canon characters) has caught your all's attention, and that you'll return to see where I take it from here! As with all my stories, the whole thing is already complete, and I'll be posting a new chapter every other day, 15 chapters total. The usual thanks to **psiChic** for the impeccable beta work…you're made of awesome, LLS! And thanks to all of you for showing enough interest to check this story out…reviews are much appreciated as always! Hope to see y'all back Wednesday for the next chapter! :-D


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: Just for once, I'd like to put a 'claimer' at the top of a chapter instead…but alas, I'd be lying. I don't own anything…not even the song excerpt!

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**Bless the Broken Road**

PREVIOUSLY: _He needed to find answers. And two sons were one too many children to be dragging along on that likely long and arduous quest. It would be for the better._

_For all three of them._

**Chapter 2**

"_I set out on a narrow way, many years ago  
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road  
But I got lost a time or two  
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through  
I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you"_

Lyrics from "Bless the Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts

_---Present day, Iowa, early April, 2009---_

"Dean! Down!"

An arrow whizzed just over top of dark blond spikes to plow into the chest of a buxom young redhead, instantly felling her at the feet of a man only a few years older than her. Shaking off the close call, he got to his feet and grinned cockily down at her, not even flinching when she bared her razor sharp fangs in threat and rage. "That arrow was tipped with dead man's blood, babe…works on you bloodsuckers every time, eh?" The vampire hissed in response, and the young man laughed as pulled his machete from its sheath. "Ya know, you'd be smokin' hot if it weren't for that ice-cold skin, but unfortunately for you?" He winked, and then swung the weapon down, severing her beautiful head from her shapely body with one blow. "I don't do undead chicks…in any sort of way."

Wiping the blade on her skin-tight pink halter top, the young man shot a smug smirk over to his older partner, a tall African-American with a crossbow in his hand and his own beheaded vampire at his feet. "Damn, would ya look at that rack," he quipped with a mock-wistful glance at the headless corpse. "What a waste."

The older man smiled, but not in response to the lewd comment. "You did great, Dean. You're learning faster than I could've ever hoped to teach you."

"What's there to learn," his young companion shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not human…it doesn't get to live."

"Correct," came the satisfied response. "And much improved from last time, when you still insisted on putting 'it's not nice' in between the two. Doesn't matter if it's nice or not…a monster's a monster. They all go bad…sooner or later."

"Yeah, yeah, heard it all before. You—"

"Your dad would've been proud, kiddo."

And at this, thirty year-old Dean Winchester shut his mouth, a wistful look passing across his handsome face. _Dad…miss ya._

The loss of John Winchester had been sudden and unexpected – an "I'm proud of you, son" whispered to Dean as the younger man lay at death's door, an admonishment from a nurse to the father to return to his hospital bed, the wail of John's cardiac monitor, the code blue, the failed revival attempts…and Dean's instant miraculous healing. It hadn't taken Dean long to find out, however, that what seemed to have been Heaven-sent had been _Hell_-sent instead. Courtesy of one Yellow-Eyed Demon named Azazel…the very demon responsible for everything. For Mary Winchester burning on the ceiling…for his father's obsession with hunting the supernatural…for putting them in the hospital in the first place via one of his black-eyed henchmen behind the wheel of a semi…

And the very demon Dean had killed in a Wyoming cemetery months later with a bullet from a special gun to the skull. With _relish_.

He had done it for his parents…both of them. For his long-dead mother and his recently passed father, who, to save Dean from the terminal injuries sustained during the collision with the semi, had made a deal with Azazel – his soul and the special gun, the Colt, for his son's life. The mighty John Winchester had spent those months burning in Hell for Dean, and had only gotten free from the ultimate hot spot thanks to Azazel's opening of the Devil's Gate. It had been the demon's crowning achievement…but it had also been his last. Dean had made damn sure of that, with the help of his father's erstwhile mentor, Bobby Singer, and his current colleague…the formidable Gordon Walker.

His first meeting with the dark-skinned hunter had been quite the experience. Still reeling from fresh loss of his father, Dean had been throwing himself into hunts with gusto, despite Bobby Singer's protests as he stayed at the older man's auto salvage yard in South Dakota. One of those hunts had taken place in Red Lodge, Montana, where several decapitations had turned out to be Gordon's work, and the so-called victims had actually been the monsters instead – vampires. Dean had eagerly teamed up with Gordon after hearing of the older hunter's prowess with the bloodsuckers, and together they had taken out an entire nest, the leader of which had had the gall to claim they deserved to be spared. That she and her clan only drank the blood of cattle rather than people.

He and Gordon had swiftly silenced _that_ ridiculousness, though…and had been – for the most part – chummy ever since.

The only difference was that now, the work of their partnership definitely went beyond Fangs.

Because John Winchester unfortunately hadn't been the only one to escape The Pit through its open gate. Along with _his_ release had come that of scores of demons, many of which were wreaking havoc on the world even as he and Gordon gathered the vampires' remains into one big heap for a standard preventative salt and burn job. He and Gordon had sent several demons back to their former prison since that fateful night in Wyoming, but an untold number remained…so they most definitely still had work to do.

"So…do the honors?"

Dean smirked at Gordon's offer as he extracted a matchbook from his leather coat – a coat that had belonged to his father. "With pleasure."

The headless corpses and the severed heads were ablaze within mere minutes, and the pair of hunters stood by until they deemed the remnants destroyed enough to leave. The police would turn the area into a crime scene no doubt, would go and blame it on some kind of serial murderer-slash-arsonist, as they had in Montana over a year ago. Then the locals would become paranoid for a little while, start locking their doors extra tight at night, stop going out alone, etcetera and so on…before the fear would finally die down. The process was all the same everywhere they went…

But at least those people would still be _alive_ to go through it…thanks to the so-called killers, unbeknownst to them. Outsider-gratitude was a rare thing, but such was the life of a hunter of the supernatural. It didn't bother Dean…he knew how important what he and other hunters did was, even if everyone else didn't.

And more importantly than that…he wanted nothing more than to follow in his father's footsteps. Which, according to _both_ mentors in his life, he was apparently doing a pretty good job of so far…with their help. _And speaking of the other guy…_

"Hey, man," Dean spoke up as he walked in step beside Gordon after they had cleaned up as best as they could. "Was thinkin' about headin' on to Bobby's tonight, seein' as how I've got nothin' else lined up on my agenda…take a little breather. How 'bout you?"

"No such thing as a breather for me, kid," Gordon replied. "Got a rather big hunt on the horizon up in Vermont…there's a nest of Wendigoes to take down there."

"That so…well damn if that doesn't bring back memories."

"You and your daddy faced one before, eh?"

Dean nodded proudly. "Yep…torched the sucker too, saved some kids who were camping…a good hunt's work. Need any help with yours?"

"Nah," the older man immediately declined. "Got lots of old buddies comin' with me on this one, they've been planning and lookin' forward to it for a while now. Don't want you feelin' like a tenth wheel…you go on and sit this one out."

"You sure?"

"Sure as a Fang needs to die, kid. But, you be sure and be ready, 'cause when I come back? I've got a real doozy of a hunt lined up for us…somethin' we haven't run across in a good while. There was a survivor."

"A survivor," Dean mused disinterestedly. "A survivor of what…we talkin' plane crash, bombing, reality TV show…women who've seen you in the buff…what?"

The dark-skinned man didn't even crack a smile. "None of the above, Deano…I'm talkin' the big battle, the psychic kid showdown in Cold Oak."

Dean stopped dead in his tracks at the statement. "Come again?"

It _was_ quite the attention grabber…the hunter remembered the story well. The account of young twenty-something men and women who had special abilities – ranging from telekinesis and psychic visions, to mind control and super-strength – was a harrowing one. They had first all mysteriously disappeared at the same time and then wound up fighting a last-man-standing battle in a South Dakota ghost town, orchestrated by none other than Azazel. It was the Yellow-Eyed Demon's way of weeding out the inferior to leave him with the ultimate cream of the crop for the future leader of his demonic army – a literal kill or be killed competition that had culminated in the 'champion', Jake Talley, opening the Devil's Gate with the Colt as the key…crossing the iron lines of Samuel Colt's railroad devil's trap that Azazel himself couldn't cross. And the kid had performed the task without compunction, as he was groomed to do…but he had paid for it with his life. At Dean's hands. Not that the young hunter had any regrets about that…

The sound of his companion's voice snapped the Winchester out of his ruminations and back to the present.

"You heard me right," Gordon confirmed. "Got loads of info on 'im through some of my old hunting partners. Wait till you check it all out…bowled me over, that's for sure."

"Damn…I thought they were all dead." Dean called on his memory again as they resumed walking. "They were offin' themselves and each other left and right, or were offed by other hunters. I know you got that Scott kid in Indiana before Cold Oak even happened…and then there was that Max Miller nutcase who bit the bullet before any of us could get to him… And I ganked the so-called winner in Wyoming, that Jake jerk…you mean to tell me he _wasn't _the winner?"

The older man shook his head. "See for yourself whenever you're able to get to a computer; I sent the info to your account, and Singer's too, whether he likes it or not…but yeah, all signs are pointin' to there havin' been a real wild card out there, one that somehow escaped the rest of his kind and managed to fly under the hunters' radar for a little while."

Dean shook his head. "Damn shame…was hopin' we were done with those freaks. Which one gave us the slip?"

"The boy with the future death visions…Sam Murphy."

"Uh-huh…the only one whose body your hunting buddies never found. Ah, well," the Winchester shrugged, "better than ol' Simon says go jump off a cliff or Little Miss Heart-stopper, don't ya think? Should be easy enough to take out…"

Gordon snorted. "Not so fast, boy. According to the research I read, it looks like the Murphy kid's had a major upgrade in his abilities since then. I mean, death already followed this boy everywhere he went, but now? He's in the runnin' to be the Grim Reaper's heir, I'd say." The hunter scratched his chin in thought. "Or maybe more like Satan's heir, that is. The facts will speak for themselves to ya…but in short, everywhere he goes, demonic omens pop up like crazy. Foster mother, holy man who took him in as a kid, college girlfriend…all barbecued while he wasn't even singed."

"Wow," Dean mumbled as he mulled over the basic information, already anxious to see it for himself. "Not good karma."

"Not at all," Gordon agreed. "The sooner this kid dies the better. But I've done some searchin', and it appears as though he's lying low for now. And as much as I want him bleedin' at our feet, I can't put my duty on hold for him forever, so…he can wait till we get some sign of him. When I get back from Vermont though," the older hunter grinned coldly as his car finally came into sight, "it's open season on demonic freaks."

"Sounds good…lookin' forward to it," Dean smirked back as they both opened the doors of their respective vehicles after friendly goodbye claps on the back. "Good luck with the Wendigoes, man…give one of 'em a toast for me. And call me when you're done so we can get down to business with our psychic kid."

"Will do on both counts. You take it easy till then," Gordon said with a salute. "Later, Winchester."

"Till next time, Walker," Dean echoed, climbing behind the wheel of his 1967 Chevy Impala with a final wave, his sights now set on Bobby Singer's salvage yard in South Dakota, ready for a period of rest…

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"Bet ya won't believe what I found out, boy."

Upon arrival, though, it became quickly clear that Dean wasn't going to be getting as much rest as he thought. Bobby, veritable research nut that he was, had apparently stumbled upon something big. And Dean guessed he owed it to the old man to pay attention…even through his yawns. "Lemme guess…you really _were_ born wearing that grubby old hat."

Bobby scoffed, unconsciously reaching up to adjust the ubiquitous dirty trucker's cap on his head. "No, get serious, boy…'cause your and Gordon's new hunt just came outta hibernation, if what I read is on the money."

Dean instantly sat straight up in his chair at the statement. "You mean the psychic kid?"

Bobby nodded before turning back to his computer. "Thought that might get ya goin'…got Gordon's message a few hours before you showed up, and asshole though he is, it all seems to be pretty accurate. So I took the liberty of trackin' down some of this Sam Murphy kid's known aliases…found he apparently just checked out of a motel in Ohio, one day ago."

"Damn," Dean grumbled, snapping his fingers in disappointment as he browsed the screen over Bobby's shoulder. "Just missed him…wonder where he's headed next."

"Dunno," Bobby replied absently. "Thought you were comin' here to take a break, by the way."

"You kiddin' me, Bobby?!" Dean couldn't believe his ears. "We may never get another chance at this freak…I'm callin' Gordon, he's got other hunters with him that can take care of the Wendigo nest…he needs to get here for this."

"I'd rather ya not," the bearded man reprimanded with a frown of distaste, and was unsurprised when Dean's eager countenance abruptly turned defensive.

"And why is that?" Dean shook his head incredulously. "You read the research, Bobby…this kid's been responsible for people dying and frying ever since he could walk! Talk about born to kill…"

"Well…" Bobby reasoned, "quite a few of the kids had a parent or loved one killed in a mysterious fire when they were real young…it was a pattern."

"Yeah, but this kid?" Dean countered, bringing up Gordon's information and pointing to it with fervor, having already read it all earlier in a diner with Wi-Fi. "He's had _three _people die in fires around him. And then all this recent stuff…demon signs show up when he does, followed by dead bodies. Then he leaves…and the killings stop." The younger hunter looked up at his friend and mentor, a gleam in his emerald eyes. "Bobby…I really think we've hit the big money with this kid. Sounds like one nasty piece of work."

"So, _mighty hunter_…what's your solution, then?"

"What else?" Dean didn't hesitate with his reply. "We go and stop this Sam Murphy kid…no different than we stopped the Jake one. Look for some demonic omens, pinpoint where they're strongest…then head on out to meet-n-greet."

Uncertainty passed across Bobby's face. "Well…sounds all well an' good plan-wise but there's no guarantee the kid'll be there. Could be just regular old demons."

"Then so what? We'll send the black-eyed bastards back to Hell…trip won't have been a total waste."

"Okay…then what about this kid?"

"Yeah?" Dean's eyes narrowed. "What_ about_ him?"

"Dean…" the elder hunter sighed. "I'm gonna level with ya. I've never really liked this psychic kid shit…'cause like it or not, these kids are still human, and we hunters are just gettin' rid of 'em like the common monster or ghost. I mean…maybe if ya talk to him first or—"

"Save your breath and your sympathy, old man," Dean cut him off. "'Cause these kids, _like it or not_, ARE monsters…they kill people, they've got unnatural powers…sorry but there're no shades of grey to this."

Bobby nodded sarcastically. "Yep, of course…understood. Gordon's got you trained real well, don't he?" He stood up, needing to step away from the increasingly colder young hunter for a while. "Speakin' of the devil…you plannin' on doin' this hunt with Gordon so soon after the vampires?"

"Nope," Dean responded casually. "You don't want me to call him, I won't. Gordon just wants this kid dead ASAP, doesn't matter who does it, and he's busy so…you're up, old man."

"I'm up?"

"Yeah…come on, Bobby…I mean so sue me but I still need backup even if it's not Gordon. A guy to watch my six while I take out the nasty…any of that registerin' with you? Or is your conscience blockin' it out."

It wasn't a question, and the salvage yard owner's hackles rose. "Well, that may be…but at least I've still _got_ one most of the time, like you _used_ to."

Dean flinched slightly at the barb, before settling his features into a mask of composure and indifference. "Hmph…it was overrated anyway. Now can we focus, here? I've got a big-time hit on demonic activity in Missouri…sticks out like a sore thumb. I say we check it out and get ready to kill ourselves a freak."

Bobby could only reluctantly acquiesce. "Whatever you say, boy…you're the boss on this hunt." _'Cause I don't like it…and I don't want to be._

TBC…

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A/N: So there ya go…things are quite different for Dean without Sam in his life. Having hunted with John mostly, and then Bobby after John's death. But unfortunately, Gordon was able to get his hooks into him too during that time…though it remains to be seen just how deep they've penetrated...

Next chapter may provide some insight into that, however, as we'll be meeting Sam right along with Dean and getting some hints of what _his_ life has been like all this time, not only having grown up without his big brother…but having grown up being something _other_ than a Winchester altogether.

Hope to see you back here for that next installment! Thanks to my LLS for the beta and to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter…keep the hits and the feedback coming! :-)


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: Y'all will know if I ever come to own _Supernatural_…'cause if it happens, the series finale will consist of the brothers defeating all the evil they're up against, restoring their bond to be stronger and better than ever, and driving peacefully off into the sunset! Oh, and Sam marrying me, of course. LOL. ;-)

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**Bless the Broken Road**

PREVIOUSLY: _Bobby could only reluctantly acquiesce. "Whatever you say, boy…you're the boss on this hunt." _'Cause I don't like it…and I don't want to be.

**Chapter 3**

"Think this is the place?" Bobby queried as he stepped out of the car and took in the large warehouse in central Missouri they had just parked in front of. According to witnesses in the industrial town, strange and frightening things had been happening lately…and the center of it seemed to be the sizeable structure.

Dean nodded. "Yep…and it looks like a pretty good place for an evil bastard to hang out, don't ya think?" The younger hunter popped the trunk and selected appropriate weaponry – a revolver for himself, and a serrated, pure silver knife dipped in holy water for Bobby. "Quick and clean as possible, remember?"

Bobby scratched a hand through his thinning hair before unenthusiastically accepting the knife. "Yeah, right. Though, this here? Doesn't look too clean," he quipped, testing the point of the knife briefly with the tip of his index finger.

"Yeah, well…" Dean replied clinically, "it gets the job done. What's your issue, man?" The Winchester didn't like the contemplative look on the older man's face.

"My _issue_, as you so bluntly put it, ain't changed. It's still that you're talkin' about killin' some human kid like it's as simple and clear cut as takin' out the trash, boy. Picked that kinda detachment up from Gordon, I'll bet."

Dean bristled. "Well, I don't know about you, Bobby, but actually _my dad_ taught me that if it's supernatural, we kill it…you wanna make something of that?"

"Not trying to make nothin' outta anything, boy," the bearded man replied levelly. "But I will say that even though your daddy may have been a hard man, even he would've been sorry to have to do this."

"Do WHAT, Bobby? Kill that kid in there?" Dean spat indignantly. "Get this through your thick head already…the only one of us that's got anything to be sorry about IS that kid, but he's not sorry, and that's the whole point. You've seen the research, he kills people everywhere he goes and probably doesn't even bat an eye…but you're too busy being all green-eyed monster over Gordon that you try to make him out to be the bad guy in all this—"

"Oh bull_shit_, Dean…if you think that's what this is all about then you're already too deep in the crap he shovels. I'm not jealous of him, ya idjit…I'm worried about you."

The Winchester scoffed. "Trust me, old man…the only thing you've got to worry about is not lettin' our little psycho psychic get the drop on us before we can take him out. Now let's get a move on already."

Dean had started across the street to the warehouse before Bobby could even draw a breath to protest, and with a weary, resigned sigh, the elder hunter could do nothing but follow. Still, he couldn't shake the bad feeling he had in his gut about this so-called hunt…and it only increased the closer he got to the warehouse. _Damn it, boy, I hope you know what you're doin' here._ The younger man waited for him, and after they both took a few seconds to steady themselves, Dean eased open the door and discreetly slipped inside, Bobby covering him.

They saw their target almost immediately.

It was in fact, nearly impossible to miss him…being that he had to be well over six feet of lean but powerful muscle, with a deep, forceful voice to match. And to the duo's dismay, it seemed that the kid already had himself a hostage in the form of a petite thirty-something looking woman, who was screaming right back at her captor with equal grit. Dean had to hand it to her….she had definite guts to be able to stand up to such an imposing form as the gargantuan psychic.

But Bobby saw something entirely different, almost immediately. The woman was much more than she appeared…her tar-black eyes were proof enough of that. _Oh, shit… _He nudged Dean's shoulder. "Looks like we've got ourselves a demon here."

"I'll say," the younger man growled in response, glowering at the back of the kid's shaggy head.

"Boy, don't let your prejudice blind you," hissed Bobby angrily. "The kid's not the demon…the girl is!"

_Say what…? _Dean took a second, closer look at the confrontation playing out before them…and realized with chagrin that Bobby was right. "Well damn it, this just got a whole lot more complicated." Green eyes shifted from the young man to the young woman. "So who do we gank first, him or her? Maybe you take one and I'll take the other…Bobby?"

Faded blue eyes were wide with shock underneath the brim of the dirty trucker's cap. "Actually…I don't think we're gonna have to worry so much about the Hell-bitch..."

"What do you…whoa." Dean cut himself off, his own eyes widening at the unforeseen turn the situation had taken. "What the _hell_…? What's the kid doing…?"

Bobby had no answer, too speechless to even formulate one. All he could see was that the kid now had his long arm flung out like that of some kind of Biblical miracle-worker, palm splayed and facing outward, lips slightly parted, long lashes resting in dark crescents against his high cheekbones…and the demon was _suffering_, as a result. _How the…?_

The process continued, and the pair of hunters could only stand still as statues in their hidden positions, watching with rapt awe as black smoke began to slowly seep from the woman's open mouth, the demon struggling to remain inside of her choking and sputtering body but to no avail…the young man's control was too strong. His arm began to tremble, in reflex to what Dean guessed was an increase in the outpouring of his energy…the guess confirmed as the demon lost more of its grip on its chosen meat-suit. The still almost serene expression on the boy's face changed to one of agony in an instant, however, as his free hand shot up to his left temple, applying firm pressure there, his eyes now scrunched tight and his teeth clenched. And despite everything, neither Bobby nor Dean could suppress a wince when a steady stream of crimson suddenly began to gush from one of the young man's flaring nostrils…although Dean at once silently berated himself for the miniscule reaction. _No sympathy…NONE. Freak's gonna be bleeding a whole lot worse by the time we're done with him, anyway._

The Winchester's focus was quickly brought back to the here and now though when the spectacle before him shifted gear yet again. The writhing demonic mass was shrieking its displeasure, sensing its imminent defeat at the hands – _literally_ – of the powerful psychic as he began to carefully lower his outstretched appendage…taking the demon down right along with it and finally freeing the hapless female host.

Dean and Bobby had never seen anything like it. A freakin' _mental_ exorcism.

With one last push, the young man's arm was made completely perpendicular with his rigid body and the demon melted into the floor, disappearing entirely. Back to the Pit. _Or possibly even flat-out dead?_ Dean had no idea.

But what he DID now know for sure was that this kid – this _Sam Murphy_, if that was even his real name – was one _hell _of a fearsome supernatural being…and for that, he had to die.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The intense energy coursing throughout Sam Murphy's body quickly abated as he let his right arm drop back down to his side, a deep sigh of relief escaping from his lips. Another demon down, another job well done…and with only minimal pain, for which he was grateful. Just to what or whom, he still wasn't sure, of course…but it was nothing that he ever let himself dwell on for too long anyway. Grimacing faintly, he extracted a well-used handkerchief from the pocket of his brown corduroy jacket and roughly plugged his nosebleed, which had ebbed along with the flow of his psychic energy as always seemed to happen for…well, _some_ reason or another. He was no doctor.

Sam Murphy had no idea _what_ the hell he was.

Giving his chin and the area between his nose and upper lip one last swipe, he stuffed the newly half-saturated hankie back into his jacket pocket and turned his weary gaze to the formerly possessed woman, who now lay in an unmoving heap at his feet. Anxiously holding his breath, he crouched to her level and placed gentle fingers on her neck, letting out another deep sigh of relief when he detected a strong, steady pulse. _Thank God…or who or _what_ever it is that watches out for something like me, anyway…_

Suddenly, as if roused by Sam's feather-light touch, the woman began to stir, moaning faintly with eyes darting beneath their still-closed lids. Sam immediately switched into caregiver mode, running a soothing hand through the woman's hair, hoping to ease her into the waking world as gently as possible.

"Shhh…it's okay, you're gonna be okay. It's over…all over. I'm gonna get you some help."

The woman appeared to be responding positively to the comforting words and tone of voice, and Sam smiled a little in a mix of encouragement and contentment…completely unaware of the two men watching from the shadows. Dean, however, was all-too aware of _him _– of his history, of his powers, of what he had just witnessed…and of what needed to be done. And even as kindhearted and innocent as the young psychic before him seemed now…he aimed to do it. _No mercy…it's show time. _He stepped into the dim lighting, gun raised.

"_Get your damn hands off of her." _Sam started and whipped his head around at the cold voice and its even colder words, eyes widening when he found himself staring at the barrel of a revolver that was pointed directly at his heart. _Crap._ Gaze traveling upward, his apprehensive orbs met the stony green ones of the gunman, who was flanked by another, older man whose eyes were shadowed by a greasy-looking hat. Rather than a gun, this man brandished a long and wickedly sharp knife. _Double crap. _Sam swallowed nervously as he attempted to diffuse the volatile situation."Uh, hey guys, if she's either one of your all's girlfriend, I can promise you that this _really_ isn't what it looks like, okay?" To prove his point, Sam slowly stood and raised his hands in a gesture of cooperation…only to have a bullet strike the ground mere inches to the right of his feet.

"Don't even _think _about it…put your hands DOWN! To your sides…NOW!" Dean shouted, repositioning his gun to hit flesh instead of floor. He watched a fleeting look of confusion pass across the boy's face before his soft, slightly amused voice reached his ears.

"Um…not that I really care right now, but…doesn't the phrase usually go 'put your hands UP?'"

Dean couldn't believe it…was that kid freakin' _mocking _him? _Him_, he who had a damn _gun _in his hand and a knife-wielding partner to boot? He scoffed. Winchesters gave as good as they got. "Not when the circumstances involve half-demonic _freaks_, it doesn't," he viciously replied. "And this is definitely no damn girlfriend issue, kid, FYI."

Shock, followed seconds later by realization, flooded Sam's features, causing a satisfied smirk to cross those of the gunman. _Hunters…shit. _Sam swallowed his sudden burst of fear, determined not to let an ounce of it seep into his tone. "Well, no kidding…I kinda gathered that after your whole 'half-demonic freaks' spiel, ya know?" With that, Sam gave his own small smirk and watched as the gunman's green eyes narrowed to slits.

"Who the hell do you think you are, kid?"

The young psychic met the icy emerald gaze unwaveringly as he answered. "Sam…Sam Murphy. And I don't think I am…I _know_ I am."

Dean gritted his teeth at the blatant bravado, raising his gun to point right between the boy's hazel eyes and eagerly anticipating the moment when he could put a bullet there if only just to shut the little freak up. Everything about this kid rubbed him the wrong way…but nothing more so than the ominous revelations from the research Gordon had accumulated concerning him. "Oh, I know that you are, too. I know everything there is to know about you, as a matter of fact."

"That so?"

"Yep."

"So…what are you, then, some kinda psychic?"

"Ha…cute," Dean sneered. He was done letting this kid get to him…now it was time to turn the tables. "Nah, I'm no psychic." He fixed a piercing stare on the young man. "But you are, aren't ya, Sammy-boy…and a powerful psychic at that. Am I right?"

"It's _Sam_," the boy retorted, maintaining his stoic demeanor.

"Oh…sorry…_Sam_," Dean mocked. "Is that all you've got to say, though…is your name the _only_ thing I got wrong in that last statement of mine?" The kid averted his eyes and didn't answer…and Dean moved in for the kill. "Yep. Thought so, Psychic Wonder. Visions, telekinesis, and now mental exorcisms…all rolled into one convenient package." Dean lowered the gun upon seeing the young man flinch at his words, knowing that _he _was the one in control, now. And he wasn't _about_ to let the moment go to waste.

"Yep…Sam Murphy…well, just 'Sam' back in '83, I guess. The year you were dropped off on the doorstep of a Nebraska shelter by a parent or parents of an unknown identity, with the only thing to your name being, well…your name. Tacked on to your baby blanket. Taken in after a few months or so by a nice couple from Lincoln, only to end up back in the system at the age of two due to foster-mommy dying in a mysterious fire and foster-daddy being accused of setting it. Ringing any bells, yet?"

"Shut up," Sam choked out, feeling a minute tremble beginning in his hands as his emotions rose. But the green-eyed hunter continued as the other hunter stood by silently.

"Nothin' yet? Well, funny I should speak of ringing bells…bells, as in, hmm…_church_ bells, maybe?" Now completely relaxed, Dean went to lean casually against one of the warehouse's thick support columns as he continued his verbal assault. "Bet you heard plenty of church bells when you got adopted soon after by kindly old Pastor Jim Murphy, didn't ya? You must've liked him a lot, too, since that's the last name you've kept all this time. Too bad that twenty years after you came into his life he got flame-broiled, too, eh? 'Nother one of those 'mysterious fires' that seem to follow you around like a bad smell…a bad smell like _sulfur_, maybe?"

Outrage leapt into Sam's eyes and voice, his tremors increasing. "You have no idea wh-what you're talking about."

"Oh, do I not? Then how 'bout we go backwards to two weeks _before_ that…Palo Alto, California, Stanford University. Small apartment goes up in flames with one casualty, Jessica Moore, and one survivor in the form of her beloved boyfriend…none other than one Sam Murphy," Dean sneered. "What a coincidence."

"You son of a bitch," Sam furiously whispered, his breath stolen from him by the pain of the memories. _This bastard has no clue, no _right_…_

"Oh and let's not forget the little last-psychic-standing competition a couple years ago in Cold Oak, South Dakota…you were the ultimate survivor, right? Outplayed, outwitted, and outlasted 'em all…or maybe outmurd—"

"That's ENOUGH!" Sam roared. Boldly he stepped forward, only to be halted by the hunter raising his gun once more.

"Try lifting that hand and I'll blow it clean off your wrist!" Dean smiled grimly as the psychic made no further moves. "That's better. So…didn't I tell ya? Do I know you pretty well or what?"

Sam raised his chin, fixing his would-be assailant with his most defiant and intrepid look as he answered. "You don't know me in the _slightest_."

The cheeky arrogance abruptly vanished from Dean's gaze as his anger at the boy rose anew. But the hardened hunter had to grudgingly admit that another, much different feeling had begun to grow as well in regards to Sam Murphy – respect. Dean had thrown everything he had at the psychic short of that fatal bullet, and still there the young man stood before him, proud and strong. He finally realized that neither he nor Bobby – who had stood there shell-shocked throughout the whole exchange, apparently – were going to get a thing out of the kid except for audaciousness and attitude. The time had come for them to end it. "Cover me, Bobby," Dean whispered. He had no guarantee that the kid wouldn't use his TK and send the bullet back in _their_ direction somehow.

The older hunter nodded, but uncertainty inexplicably nagged at him. "Dean…are you sure about this?"

Dean chuffed audibly at the question. "Why wouldn't I be, Bobby? The kid's a freak, a murderous, pyromaniac, demon-loving supernatural _freak_," he spat disgustedly.

"Again I ask, though…are you sure? It didn't look to me like he was showin' the demon who possessed that woman over there a whole lotta love," Bobby intoned quietly.

"Damn it!" Dean hissed. "You read all about this kid, Bobby…about his powers, about how people seem to die everywhere he goes…what part of 'future demonic soldier' don't you understand?!"

"The part where he's sendin' his so-called comrades back to Hell instead of helping them!" the bearded hunter growled back heatedly.

Momentarily at a loss for words, Dean shrugged his shoulders and turned away from his old friend to glare at the kid, who glared right back without flinching. "Little Hell spawn was just puttin' on a show…probably _sensed_ us coming and set the whole thing up," he muttered testily.

"Maybe," Bobby answered before pinning Dean with a hard gaze of his own. "But for the last time, I ask…ARE. YOU. SURE?"

"NO! No, Bobby, I'm _not_ sure…freakin' satisfied now?!" Dean shouted, then shook his head and smiled without humor. "Damn, dude…since when did you turn into some kinda freak-sympathizer?"

"Dunno, Dean…maybe about the same time you turned into Gordon Walker Jr." Bobby watched as red suffused Dean's face at the statement, feeling an odd blend of remorse and satisfaction. He couldn't – and _wouldn't_ – take it back, though…it needed to be said, before things went way too far. Before _Dean_ went way too far…and was too far removed from the Dean he remembered.

Instead of lashing out as Bobby expected, though, the Winchester swallowed before hesitantly speaking. "You _really_ think that's what I am?"

"No," Bobby softened his tone. "I don't. I think that it's something you have the _potential_ of being, but don't _want_ to be…somethin' that you try with all you've got to _keep _yourself from being. And therefore…you're not," he finished reassuringly. "But you know what else?"

"What?"

"That kid over there…" Bobby indicated Sam with a quick tilt of his head in the silent psychic's direction, "regarding his whole 'future demonic soldier' status…I'd say the same conditions apply to him." The older hunter watched as Dean's vice grip on his revolver slackened, in what he hoped was at least a moment of consideration for the words he'd just spoken. "That's it, boy," he approved with a pat on the back. "Just think before ya shoot, s'all I'm sayin'."

Silence reigned for a few seconds before Dean let out a bone-weary sigh and scrubbed a callused hand roughly over his face. "_Shit…_" The gun now swung limply from his fingers as he paced a few feet back and forth, laboring on what to do next. But a throat loudly being cleared from across the room soon interrupted his thoughts.

"Hey, uh, guys…if your conversation over there has anything to do with me like I'm pretty sure it does…I'm right here, ya know," Sam reminded the two hunters, suddenly wary of what they'd been saying as he had resumed his ministrations with the woman. If the sudden quiet and parting of the two squared-off men was anything to go by, it was a good bet that a compromise or agreement of some sort had been reached…Sam could only hope that the truce for them didn't mean death for _him_, though. _But even if it does…at least I saved one more…and at least I'll never have to worry about becoming something I'm not…_

He stood from his stooped position and resolutely faced the pair of armed men. "Look," he began, shifting his eyes to include both of them in his intent gaze, "I know that you two are hunters…I know what you came here to do. I know you've heard bad things about me and that you saw everything and I know how it all must've looked but I _swear_ to you, it was NOT what you think…_I'm_ not what you think. I'm not what I look like."

"Really…" Dean replied with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "Because you looked pretty bad to me." _But that was THEN… _Dean vehemently cursed the niggling voice inside his head, but to his dismay, couldn't deny that it was telling the truth. Because now…_now_ the kid in front of him looked like some sort of overgrown puppy – throat bobbing nervously, long brown bangs in his face, and those damned hazel eyes…all big and soulful and now looking more blue-green than brown-green in the better lighting. _Huh. Kid's got mood ring eyes…but no black in them, or red…or yellow. Damn it…_

"Well hey, if looks matter that much to you then _by all means_, go ahead…do it. Kill me." Sam spread his long arms out to his sides, giving the hunters an unobstructed shot at his chest…an open invitation to fire away.

Dean gaped in shock at Sam's actions and words, the gun remaining at his side. "Are you crazy, kid?"

"No," the young psychic replied confidently, knowing that there was no way out with the odds so stacked against him...not even with his powers. "But I'm not afraid to die, either. And if I've gotta make one last request it's that you call 911 the _second_ after you do what you've gotta do and get that woman some help. She has nothing to do with this…with _me_. She's an innocent. You're hunters. You may kill things like me…but more importantly you _help_ people like her. Don't forget that…okay?"

Dean met the kid's eyes, sincerity and steadfastness in his stare and his voice. "Never."

"Okay," Sam whispered in approval. "Good." And with that, he shut his eyes in preparation for the fatal shot as Dean raised his gun once more…and fired.

TBC…

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: *cowers in fear* Uh…would it help if I said I was sorry? *crickets chirp* No? Okay, then…maybe it'll help if I say the next update is coming Sunday? Because it is…hang in there, folks! Remember one very important thing…this story is _fifteen_ chapters long, not four. And also remember what I said about there being no angels or Ruby in this one, BUT, do keep in mind one important thing Ruby said to Sam…that he didn't need the extra blood consumption, that these kinds of powers were in him all along. Therefore, yep, he's got the same abilities…only in this case, they're under his _own_ control…which hopefully makes for an interesting and pleasant twist! So now y'all know the bare bones about Sam from this chapter, but further revelations about him are coming too, don't worry!

Thanks again to my LLS for the beta – and my apologies to_ you_ as well for the cliffy…I should've thought before I suggested three chapters at a time for one beta session, I guess, knowing how my third one ended! *facepalm* – and the same to all my readers and reviewers…the more of both I get, the merrier! :-D


	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: I summoned Castiel to take me to Kripke using his mojo, and also asked the angel to pose as my agent so I could look all professional-like when I made an offer to buy _Supernatural_. But my credibility was pretty much shot when Castiel presented his fake business card to Kripke upside-down, and then the rest of the time only stared blankly ahead without saying a word…good help is so hard to find.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Bless the Broken Road**

PREVIOUSLY: _"Okay," Sam whispered in approval. "Good." And with that, he shut his eyes in preparation for the fatal shot as Dean raised his gun once more…and fired._

**Chapter 4**

Sam stiffened at the loud pop of the gun going off, expecting to briefly feel the searing burn of the bullet tearing through either his brain or his heart before he slipped into oblivion, or maybe even through his stomach if his assailant was especially cruel and wanted him to die in a slower, more painful way. A few seconds had passed, though, before it registered that he had felt…nothing. _Nothing…what the hell…? _Tentatively he opened his eyes to see what had happened, but immediately shut them again upon seeing that the green-eyed hunter still had the barrel of the gun in line with his chest, finger still on the trigger. _Shit, man, get it over with already…don't play games with me! _With his heart slamming against his ribcage with what was likely its final round of beats, Sam braced himself – again – for the kill shot.

Five seconds passed.

Ten seconds.

Fifteen.

It still hadn't come. _What is this guy's _deal_?_

Smoke still rose from the revolver that Dean Winchester had fired mere moments ago, the bullet having barely missed its intended target…just as Dean had planned for it to do. He now had all the proof that was necessary for him to make his final decision…and with that said proof in mind he lowered his gun, reengaged the safety, and stuffed the deadly weapon back into the waistband of his jeans. Bobby turned to look at him, pure bafflement on his face.

"Dean…what are you doing? How could ya miss a simple, straightforward shot like that with a stationary target no less, ya idjit?!"

"Actually, I _didn't_ miss, per se…" the younger hunter shrugged. "My aim was perfect."

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "Come again?"

Dean sighed tiredly, and then turned earnest eyes to his friend. "I had to see, Bobby…I had to see if the kid was for real before I did him in…if his surrender was genuine or if it was all just an act. And now I know." An almost wistful look passed over his face – one that _this time_ he wasn't so inclined to berate himself over – as he elaborated. "He didn't do it, Bobby…didn't even try."

"To what?"

"To save himself." Dean glanced over at the young man in question, who was now staring back at him with a guarded, somewhat distrustful look in his wide eyes. Dean imagined that he wore a very similar expression, but it didn't matter…it wasn't like he and the kid were planning on becoming best friends anyway. In fact, he hoped to never see Sam Murphy again, because Dean Winchester was a hunter first and foremost.

And he wasn't sure how many times he'd be willing to deliberately pull his shot at the last second.

Running a hand through his close-cropped dark blond hair, he uttered the words that he hoped he wouldn't end up regretting one day, unable to stop himself before they left his mouth. "Get out of here, kid."

"Wh-what?" Sam blinked in shock, fearing he had misheard the quietly spoken sentence. "What did you say?"

Dean turned an intense green gaze on the boy's anxious blue-green one. "I said _get out of here_." His voice took on a slightly harsher tone. "Before I change my mind."

Sam's mouth briefly fell open in disbelief. "You…you're letting me go?" he whispered, flinching when the green-eyed man slammed his fist onto a stack of wooden crates and shot him a heated glare in response.

"Yes, damn it! What part of _go_ don't you understand, kid? Beat it!"

"Okay, okay!" Sam started to raise his hands in submission but almost instantly halted the movement, remembering the jarring reaction that the essentially innocuous gesture had elicited from the hunter a few minutes earlier. Cautiously, he stepped away from the now half-conscious woman he had exorcised and made his way toward the warehouse's exit, passing the pair of hunters on the way with no small amount of trepidation…but no small amount of gratitude, either. These two men had spared him…he wouldn't let his last exchange with them be a tense one. "Thank you…both of you," he intoned softly, looking at each of them with a meaningful gaze.

"Yeah, kid," Dean murmured, averting his emerald orbs.

Sam stared for a moment longer, then pushed open the heavy steel door and stepped out into the sunlight, instantly squinting at the intense flood of brightness that assaulted his ill-prepared eyes…and his head. Swaying, he latched one hand onto the frame of the still-open door while bringing the other up to massage the area just above his brow as a second sudden jolt of sharp pain assaulted him. _Oh God…hurts. _A deep, guttural groan emanated from his lips…one that caught the attention of the two men still inside of the building.

"Hey, kid…you okay?"

Even through the haze of pain, Sam registered the unfamiliarity of the voice that had spoken to him. _Must've been the older hunter…didn't think he was ever gon—oh, oh God! _Without warning, Sam's knees buckled as the lingering ache escalated into a dizzying, vicious throbbing that sapped his strength with lightning speed. His stomach roiled, nausea overtaking him swiftly and within seconds causing him to expel the contents of his stomach onto the pavement. Moaning, he wrapped a shaky arm around his violently heaving belly as he began to list to the side, absentmindedly hoping that he wouldn't land in the pile of his own sickness...

But he was taken completely by surprise when a pair of strong arms caught him, preventing that very thing from happening.

"Whoa, kid, gotcha…I gotcha."

Sam recognized the voice of the green-eyed man and tensed for a brief moment before an unexpected, and rather perplexing sense of safety washed over him as his back came to rest against the hunter's solid chest. _Safe…what the hell? This guy was holding a freakin' _gun _on me a few minutes ago! _The younger boy couldn't explain it…but the feeling was there nonetheless.

"Dean…any idea what this is about?" Bobby inquired quietly, in deference for the kid's obviously serious migraine.

The equally subdued tone of the green-eyed hunter – 'Dean' – met Sam's ears as he gave a negative reply to the older man before passing the question along to the drained psychic in his arms.

"What's goin' on with you, kid?"

Sam slumped further into the secure grasp as another shockwave of pain burst through his skull. "Side effects…exorcism," he managed to get out between panting breaths. "Happens…some…times."

"Do you need a hospital or anything?"

"No…just need to…lie down…get some…rest. Take…_agh_, m-mm…medicine for th...the pain."

"Where do you live?"

"Nnn-nowhere…no home, live in muhh…motels."

"Where are you staying now?"

"M'not…not anywhere…checked out two days ago…was guhh…gonna find 'nother one later tod—_GAAH_!"

Dean's eyes widened as the boy arched in what was clearly excruciating pain of some sort, only to have a loud gasp forced from his lips seconds later when the lanky but still heavy body fell back against him limply, the shaggy head dropping forward, chin resting on the boy's own chest. _Oh, shit! _"Kid?" Dean called nervously, giving the boy a slight shake that got no response. "Kid, hey…Sam?" he tried again…still nothing. _Damn it! _

Carefully Dean shifted the position of the young psychic's pliant form until the boy's head rested in the crook of his elbow, providing the lolling neck with much-needed support…and Dean with better access to the carotid artery that it housed. Questing fingertips were met with a beat – _thank God there is one _– that was strong, if a little faster than normal, and Dean moved his focus from pressing lightly against Sam's pulse point to tapping lightly on his cheek. "Sam…hey, Sam…you with us?" He barely noticed Bobby's shadow falling over him as he continued his prodding.

"He okay?"

"Does he _look_ okay, Bobby?!" Dean snapped, then instantly regretted the harshness. "Sorry…m'sorry…kid's just got me worried, s'all."

The older hunter cocked a brow. "Worried?"

"Yeah," Dean snorted with a bitter smile. "How freakin' messed up is that?" The Winchester shook his head. He wanted the answer to that question to be 'very'…God how he _wanted_ it to be messed up, for it to feel so utterly wrong that he'd be compelled to leave the kid there for the paramedics to pick up along with the ex-possessed woman he had saved and never lay eyes on him again.

But instead, he felt compelled to do the exact opposite. To stay sat there cradling the kid, to keep trying to rouse him, to…_protect _him. There. That was the word. If Dean had to pinpoint the one feeling toward Sam that seemed to have inundated his entire being all at once – in that moment as the kid lay there in his hold, pain lines evident on his young face even in unconsciousness, dark hair spilling across his closed eyes and Dean's own arm – it was definitely a strong, hell, practically _overwhelming_ protective sense. Dean had no idea where it came from…but he could hardly ignore it.

Just like he was struggling to ignore the fact that, despite the extra three inches of height the kid had on him, Sam seemed to fit against him perfectly.

_Whoa…the _hell_? Focus…get a grip, here. _Pushing the foreign thoughts out of his head for the time being, Dean resumed the gentle tapping that he had briefly halted. "Sam! C'mon, wake up, kid." The hunter's efforts were finally met with success as the boy began to moan softly, dark lashes fluttering halfway open to reveal a pair of unfocused blue-green orbs.

"Wuhhhh…wh't hap'nd…wh'rm I?" Sam asked the blurry flesh-colored blobs hovering over him.

"You're still outside the warehouse, kid," Dean answered softly. "And according to you, the side effects of that exorcism happened."

"Oh…m'kay." Sam blinked once, before his eyes slid shut once more.

"Oh no ya don't…Sam, hey! Stay awake," Dean beckoned, patting the boy's face once more.

"Mmm, can't. M'tired…comfy." The young psychic sighed contentedly, breathing out one last word before his muscles slackened in rest. "Safe…"

'Safe...'

_Safe. _The single-syllable word echoed through Dean's head relentlessly before Bobby's voice interrupted, bordering on urgent.

"Dean, you know I called for an ambulance a couple'a minutes ago while you were talkin' to Sam, don't ya? They'll be here any minute." The older hunter glanced down at the deeply sleeping boy, then back to his young friend and hunting partner. "What're we gonna do with the kid?"

Silence reigned for several seconds as the debate raged between Dean's logic and his heart. The former screamed at him to leave the kid to the professionals…but the latter gently coaxed him to believe that abandoning Sam Murphy would be a far worse decision than for he and Bobby to take him with them.

And finally, the latter won out.

"He's comin' with us." At Bobby's disbelieving look, Dean threw out the first practical reason for the decision that he could think of. "I mean…we can't let him go to a hospital or anything, 'cause no matter how what we saw in there turned out, the kid's still got unpredictable powers and a shady past and we don't wanna put any innocents at risk like that."

A brief knowing expression flitted across Bobby's face before he nodded in approval. "Good thinkin'…let's git goin', then."

"Wait," Dean paused, unzipping and digging in all of Sam's jacket pockets until he found and extracted a key. "Take this…go find his car and get his stuff out of it, he's gotta have at least a few belongings."

Bobby caught the key as it was tossed to him, giving Dean an incredulous stare. "And just how'm I supposed to know which car is his, genius?"

Dean smirked. "Well, let's see, there's a Toyota logo on the key, and once you find one of those you can look inside and see if the driver's seat's pushed back far enough for these mile-long legs of his, but if all else fails…just push the unlock button there on the key and see which car lights up."

Bobby glared at Dean's smug wink. "Damn modern technology…bunch'a lazy asses is what it leads to…friggin' car remote controls, hell…" The older hunter's grumble faded as he made his way to the parking lot just behind the warehouse, and Dean returned his attention to the unconscious boy in his arms.

"So, kid…don't know what it is about you, but…guess you're gonna get a second chance, here. And believe me," Dean grunted as he hoisted Sam over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, "I don't give second chances too often, so you're damn lucky…and damn heavy, too."

After staggering across the empty street under the young man's dead weight, Dean gently lowered him to the ground to rest against the driver's side of the Impala as he fished out his own keys. "No remote control for this old girl, kid," he muttered, keeping up the trivial commentary until he had the door open and the bench seat tilted forward, providing better access to the backseat. "Okay, Sam, up and in you go…if I can fit your Gigantor body back there, that is." Scooting across the backseat and then leaning out the open door to grab the boy under his armpits, Dean gave a mighty heave and slid him as gingerly as possible into the car until he was stretched out along the cushion, head resting at the edge and long legs bent at the knees. It looked mildly uncomfortable, but it was the best the hunter could do for him at the moment.

"Well…enjoy the ride," Dean quipped as he patted the younger man's shoulder before exiting out the passenger side and then walking around to deposit himself into the driver's seat. He settled in and shut the door, with Bobby appearing only seconds later as if sensing Dean was ready to go, Sam's meager belongings in hand.

"So what're we gonna do with the kid's car?" the elder hunter inquired after tossing Sam's duffel in the trunk, closing the lid, and climbing into the passenger seat.

"Eh…we'll keep the key. He can come back for it later if he wants. Should be safe there till then." The Winchester snickered at his old friend with a teasing glance at the high-tech key in his hand. "Did you lock it?"

Bobby snorted indignantly. "Yeah…the _manual_ way, thank ya.

Dean smirked. "Fuddy-duddy."

"Lazy ass."

The two men fell into companionable quiet for a while, driving for around half an hour until Dean broke both the silence and his steady speed upon seeing a sign for a motel up ahead. "The Come On Inn…you've gotta be kiddin' me." Dean rolled his eyes. "I almost wanna pass it up on principle of good taste alone."

"I hear ya," Bobby replied after a long yawn. "But that Sam kid back there really needs a _comfortable_ place to rest as soon as possible, I'd say…and I'm actually pretty beat myself." The younger hunter's mouth opened, but the elder man cut him off before he could even begin. "And if I hear another crack about my age outta ya, I'll be the one drivin' an' you'll be in the trunk!"

"Hmph…would like to see ya try. My car, my rules…_grumpy old man_." The last part was muttered under Dean's breath as he exited the freeway…right before Bobby whapped him up the side of his head with his hat. "Guess you heard that, then," he said louder with a falsely sheepish grin.

"Guess so."

But the soft sigh and moan that they _both_ heard next had come from neither of them, and amidst their banter they had almost forgotten they had a guest. Cloth rustled against leather as the young man in the backseat shifted his body, finally coming back to the land of the living…and Dean and Bobby prepared themselves for a possibly unfavorable reaction to unfamiliar surroundings.

Dark lashes fluttered open to reveal slits of color as Sam Murphy came to, the dazed blue-green orbs eventually widening as further awareness set in…along with a fair amount of alarm. _Where the hell am I…? _He didn't realize he'd spoken the question aloud until a voice reached his ears in response.

"You're with us, kid…me and my older friend."

Sam instantly recognized the voice of the green-eyed man – _Dean_, if he remembered correctly – and involuntarily tensed, visions of a cold glare and the gun pointed at his chest flashing through his mind…Dean was a hunter. And that likely meant that Sam was in deep crap. "Wh-where you taking me…what're you gonna do t'me?" he stammered, confusion and uncertainty overriding the pride that would've normally not allowed him to display such naked vulnerability and fear.

"Down, boy." This time it was the older hunter that spoke, the one in the trucker's cap. "We're gonna take care of ya." The words were meant to be reassuring…but Sam misinterpreted them entirely.

"N-no…thought you…you said…"

"Said what, kid?" Dean's eyes narrowed.

"Th-that you were…g-gonna let me go."

"Changed our minds," came the Winchester's clipped answer.

Sam swallowed thickly…were they taking him to be tortured? Kept prisoner? Why hadn't they just killed him at the warehouse when they'd had the chance? He summoned strength back into his lax muscles, pushing himself up on shaky arms with the door handle in his sights. He would make a break for it if he had to…and it looked like that was going to be the case. Bracing himself for a fight, he lunged for the passenger side door and sure enough found himself struggling desperately when the older man intercepted his move.

"Whoa, kid!" Bobby exclaimed as he tried to pin down the boy's long arms. "No, no, calm down." He caught a glimpse of eyes wide with panic before a large hand managed to sock him in the jaw. "Damn it! Dean, pull over!"

The younger hunter was already way ahead of his mentor. After screeching onto the shoulder of the road and slamming the gear into park he launched himself into the fray, ducking under another blow and wrenching the kid back into submission by his right bicep, eliciting a pained cry from trembling lips. Emerald eyes glared into impossibly round blue-greens, and Dean felt his stern exterior falter and soften against his will at the helplessness within the expressive orbs. The boy was still too weakened from the exorcism to fight back and knew it…and clearly was back to thinking Dean meant him harm. _Shit… _"Hey, kid…Sam." He could feel the boy flinch at the fact that Dean knew his name…apparently Sam didn't remember anything past the first time he had collapsed outside the warehouse. "You're alright, okay? We're not gonna do anything to ya…'cept take you to a motel. You're really out of it and I honestly don't think you could bust your way out of a wet paper bag right now, so…me and my friend Bobby are gonna stay with ya until you're back on your feet, deal?"

Even through his disorientation, Sam could detect the sincerity bleeding into the green gaze and then more memories came rushing back…_these_ memories causing all the former tension to quickly melt from his body. The feel of sturdy arms catching him before he hit the ground, the sound of a deep voice murmuring soothing words…and an inexplicable sense of being safe. _Dean. _The green-eyed man had _helped_ him in the end…not hurt him.

Dean watched as the panic in Sam's eyes began to recede all at once, letting out a breath of relief of his own when the boy finally nodded. "Good. Well, we're almost to the motel, so you can lie back down if you want…you've got nothin' to fear from us, alright?" Sam nodded again, and the hunter couldn't help but feel a small measure of guilt. Because his statement wasn't entirely true…he still didn't fully trust the young psychic, and if push ever came to shove within the next few days, well…Dean would do what he had to do. It was what he'd been taught, and by only the best in the business. But he nonetheless felt the broad shoulders in his grasp relax in apparent acceptance and belief of his words, prompting him to give them a brief squeeze – not even knowing why he had done so with such foreign casualness – before he settled back behind the wheel.

"Nice work," Bobby quietly praised as he nursed his slightly bruised jaw.

Dean shrugged. "What can I say…I've got the touch."

"You sure do…when you let yourself," the older man couldn't help but add. "You should do it more often…it suits ya." _It _was _you…before Gordon caught ya in his tangled web, anyway… _Bobby kept the latter thought to himself, though. He turned to the young man in the back. "You okay there, kid? Sorry about the scare I gave ya, but…it's never a good idea to jump outta movin' vehicles, just so ya know."

One corner of Sam's mouth briefly lifted in response, revealing the shadow of a dimple in his cheek. "Yeah," he rasped. "Sorry I hit you."

Bobby waved it off. "Think nothin' of it, boy. Dean over here hits harder than that, and he hits like a girl!" Both the eldest and youngest occupant of the car cracked smiles at Dean's indignant 'Hey!' that followed the jibe, bringing Sam's other dimple out of hiding to create a matching pair and brightening the young face. It was becoming increasingly harder to believe that the kid now under his and Dean's care and watch could be as evil as the research had suggested…hell, could be evil _period._

Of course though, if Sam turned out to be just that after all, well then Bobby too was prepared and resolved to protect what was his…and that now included John Winchester's boy. His student…his friend…_and practically his _own _son_.

But, God help him, there was just something about that Sam Murphy kid that was inadvertently starting to make Bobby care for _him_ as well…and he knew it was the same for Dean.

And that was liable to ultimately mean_ trouble_ for them both.

TBC…

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: Well, as all of you were hoping would happen, Dean's reasonable side won out…and now, not only has Dean spared Sam, but he's also decided against leaving him behind and alone for the time being. And that choice, of course, will bring out some further and much more in-depth revelations on both sides…so for those of you with questions as to just what's gone on in both boys' lives and when/if certain things will come to light? Trust me, the answers are coming…

…starting with the next chapter! We'll be delving into Sam's past a good deal in it, as he remains under the tenuous supervision of Bobby and Dean…who will naturally continue to struggle with their ingrained prejudices against all things supernatural, Sam included. Many thanks to my LLS for the beta and to all of my readers and reviewers; I do so love hearing from y'all and am so glad you're enjoying…hope to see you back here Tuesday for the next installment! :-D


	5. Chapter 5

DISCLAIMER: I persuaded the Trickster to zap me into TV land, specifically into a show called _Supernatural_ starring two brothers named Sam and Dean Winchester! But to my chagrin, I found myself sharing the screen with those two convention guys who only _think_ they're Sam and Dean instead of the real thing…I guess that's why they call him the Trickster! *sigh*

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Bless the Broken Road**

PREVIOUSLY: _But, God help him, there was just something about that Sam Murphy kid that was inadvertently starting to make Bobby care for _him_ as well…and he knew it was the same for Dean._

_And that was liable to ultimately mean _trouble _for them both._

**Chapter 5**

"Room 28, pull around back," Bobby instructed as he got back in the Impala after having checked himself and Dean in.

The younger hunter nodded and guided his car around the side of the small motel's grounds, shooting a glance at the rearview mirror to their guest in the backseat. Sam had fallen victim to lingering exhaustion and pain within minutes of their last exchange after taking some medication retrieved from the Impala's glove compartment, and was now leaning against the passenger side door, head awkwardly wedged between the seat-back and the door's interior, eyes closed and breathing even. Dean couldn't help but notice how young and innocent the boy looked in repose and, not for the first time, cursed that niggling protective sense that flared up once again at the sight. In his instances of sanity, he questioned just what the hell he was doing, why he had a definitely dangerous and potentially murderous psychic kid in his car and was about to put him up in his motel room…but those moments were soon enough drowned out by just how _right _it felt to have the kid with him, almost like he _belonged_ there and had all along…

Dean shook himself out of the thoughts, shuddering. It made no sense…by all means Sam Murphy should've been dead by now and by his hands. But the feeling was there nevertheless, as was Sam, and the Winchester figured that he might as well make the most of it for the time being. Pulling into a parking space, he killed the engine and turned to Bobby. "Help me lug him inside?"

"You got it," the older man replied as he opened his door and stepped out. Dean followed suit, circling around to the passenger side as well, and Bobby deferred to him in understanding that Dean wanted to take the lead in the situation. "Kid's pretty far gone…not even the squeak of the car doors woke 'im up. Guess that means you'll have to do the honors."

Dean was already on it. Leaning over Sam's slumped form, he placed a gentle hand on the younger man's shoulder and gave it a brisk shake. "Sam. Hey. C'mon kid, wake up, we're here." The boy barely stirred at the touch and the words though, and Dean raised his voice slightly. "_Sam_. Wake up, kid." This time his command was met with a soft, sleepy sigh and fluttering lashes as the boy roused just enough to breathe out a question.

"Wha…where…?"

Dean's reply was equally subdued. "The motel, kid…remember?"

"M-m'tel…wha…? Where…?"

"Never mind, dude." Dean couldn't help but smirk lightly at Sam's bleary confusion. "We'll explain later, let's just get you inside."

With that, Dean unbuckled Sam's seat belt and then swiveled the long legs around until the boy's feet rested on the pavement. No protests or resistance came as the two hunters then hauled the young man into a standing position, Bobby grabbing one hand and Dean grabbing the other, both being careful not to let the tall psychic hit his head on the doorframe. Once he was clear and upright, Dean pulled one long arm across his shoulders and held it there while simultaneously wrapping his own other arm around the boy's slender waist, supporting his unsteady frame as they walked the short distance to their room. Bobby unlocked and held open the door as Dean staggered in with his burden and finally deposited him on the bed furthest from the door, exhaling gustily in relief. "Damn kid…you're heavier than you look."

"Th'ks…" came the slurred reply as the boy nestled his face into the pillow, and again, Dean couldn't help but smile.

"Sure, kid. Get some rest," Dean responded casually as he retrieved the comforter from the other bed and draped it over Sam's supine form. He watched the young man settle into sleep for a couple of minutes before turning back to Bobby, who was watching him with an unreadable expression on his face. "What?"

"Nothin'. Just noticin' how you're like a natural at this whole mother-hennin' thing…even though you've never done it before in your life that I know of." Dean visibly bristled, and Bobby instantly placated him. "Whoa, s'okay, ain't nothin' wrong with it…on the contrary…s'good to see."

"What do you mean?"

Bobby threw their bags in a corner of the room, shrugging. "I think you know. Don't take this the wrong way, but I sorta thought Gordon had done conditioned that side of ya completely out by now."

Dean blew out a longsuffering sigh. "Look Bobby, I don't know what your major beef with Gordon is, but despite what you apparently think, I _do_ know that the guy has his faults and flaws…and a lot of 'em. He may be my hunting partner every now and again, but…he's not my dad." The younger hunter met the elder's gaze. "He's not even you."

Surprised and touched by the candid remark, Bobby could only nod. "Okay, son…I get it. I trust ya."

Dean nodded in turn. "Speakin' of trust, though…" he began, gesturing with a quick tilt of his head to a peacefully resting Sam, "what're we gonna do with this kid? You think _he_ can be trusted?"

Bobby scratched his beard in thought. "Well…he ain't killed us with his mind yet, I reckon…or in any other sorta way. So…I don't really know. Whadda'_you_ think?"

"That's just the damn problem, man," Dean sighed in exasperation. "I don't know what to think. Every hunter's instinct in me is screamin' for me to kill the kid right this minute, to go get a knife outta my bag and slit his throat while he's completely defenseless and unaware like this, but…"

"But what?"

Dean detected a knowing tone in Bobby's voice, and mentally cringed…his feelings when it came to Sam were apparently _that_ transparent, and his next statement wasn't going to help matters. "Look at him." The younger hunter followed his own directive, eyes shifting to the sleeping psychic. "He's trusted us this far, hasn't done a thing to try and hurt us and hasn't shown the slightest inclination toward the dark side; even with what he did in the warehouse, he saved that woman and exorcised the demon which is totally backwards from what we read his MO was and, hell, Bobby…I just…I _can't_." Green eyes roved over the long body before coming to a stop on the young, serene face. "I can't kill this kid. Not now."

Understanding glimmered in Bobby's eyes. "S'okay, boy. But, uh…what _do_ you wanna do now?"

Dean's face hardened in resolve. "I wanna double-check that research…it doesn't fit at all with what we've seen outta the kid and I wanna make sure we didn't miss anything."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Bobby replied approvingly, already rummaging through the bags for Dean's laptop. Maybe he was getting soft in his old age, but the salvage yard owner sincerely hoped that the Winchester was right.

He wanted to believe the best about Sam Murphy, too.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

As it turned out, Dean had indeed been right…sort of.

An extra and much more clear-headed perusal of the research on Sam had proven to be incredibly enlightening, and the young hunter and even Bobby – the latter though to a lesser extent – had to admit that they had gone into the information with the wrong attitude…blinded by bias against all things supernatural with a 'guilty until proven innocent' mentality that had nearly proven fatal for Sam. The last of the psychic kids who, to their surprise, was looking more innocent with every page read.

"So," Bobby began, "you tell me what you've gathered from all this and I'll do likewise."

Dean shifted in his seat at the room's small desk. "Well…the more I look at it, the more it seems like it's the total 180 of what we first thought."

"Go on…"

"I don't know, man…what if the kid's not really the villain in all this crap? What if he's just a _victim_…has been all his life?" Dean pointed to the screen. "Says here that besides his name, Sam's birth date was also on his baby blanket…May 2nd, 1983, and that since then, three documented people that knew and loved him have died in a fire – his foster mom when he was two, then his surrogate pastor father and his girlfriend when he was twenty-two, both within two weeks of each other. Now I don't know about the last two, but the kid obviously couldn't have deliberately set the first fire…I mean, even if it had anything to do with his abilities, he still couldn't have been able to control or even understand them at that age. And the fact that both the foster mom and the girlfriend burned on November 2nd twenty years apart is weird, so…" Dean scrolled down to the next page, trying to block out his own painful memories of that date…the date that, according to his father, his own mother had burned.

"And then you've got all this recent stuff," he continued. "The sole survivor of the Cold Oak showdown was supposed to become ol' Yellow Eyes' right-hand man…but Sam didn't, _Jake_ did. He was the one doin' the dirty work, and Sam…well I don't what Sam was doin', but point is, there weren't supposed to _be _any other survivors besides the winner…yet here Sam is. But mostly, it's all these other demon encounters…stuff coincides all right, but exactly _what _coincides…I got wrong."

"What's that s'posed to mean?" Bobby queried, intrigued and hopeful.

"You've got four major points in time during all these demonic happenings, right? When the omens first show up, when dead bodies show up, when Sam shows up, and when the deaths and omens go away. Well, thing is…I just gave you the exact order of how things went every time."

"Elaborate."

"No. I'll do better…I'll simplify." Dean met Bobby's gaze with equal intensity. "The killings and demonic signs don't _start _happening once Sam comes onto the scene…they_ stop_."

Bobby's eyes widened as the puzzle pieces came together. "So Sam's been the savior all along, with those powers of his…not the murderer."

"Looks like," Dean confirmed quietly, with a glance over to the still slumbering psychic. "Take this case, Cedar Springs, Alabama. Your typical demon signs start around July 20th, 2008…electrical storms, livestock deaths, blah blah blah. Then there's a rash of human deaths from the 22nd up until the 28th, when they stop just as mysteriously as they began. Sam shows up in town according to motel check-in records and his known aliases on the 27th…coincidence? I think not."

"Damn." Bobby scrubbed a hand through his thinning hair. "The things ya miss when you're lookin' for the worst ahead of time."

"Speak for yourself," Dean muttered. "You weren't the one who thought that way…you told me to step back and take an extra good look from the get-go."

"Well that may be, boy, but I read the research the same as you…hell, I was the one who told ya Sam was out of hiding in the first place! I guess in the end I was lookin' for the same shit you were…the bad things." Bobby shot an apologetic glance over to Sam, even though the young man couldn't see it through his closed eyes. "So…what next?"

"I don't know," Dean confessed. "I still don't full-on trust the kid; I mean, he's got those freaky powers even though he apparently uses 'em for good, and we don't know him and what his past has really been like and—"

"Well then there's your answer," Bobby interrupted. He nodded to Sam, and then looked Dean firmly in the eyes. "Talk to the boy."

Silence hung thick in the air for a few seconds. Dean seemed to be seriously considering that idea, but still had his reservations…his expression was a conflicted one. "Yeah…I could do that, but what guarantee do I have that the kid's not gonna lie through his teeth about everything? Hell, with those big puppy-dog eyes of his he could probably concoct the most ridiculous whopper ever and get away with it…how can I be one-hundred percent sure he's tellin' the truth?"

"You can't," Bobby answered succinctly. "All ya can do is trust 'im like he's trusted us so far…he don't have any guarantee either that one of us won't murder him in his sleep, and yet there he is, out like a light. But _you_…you've at least got the research on your side, the basic facts. If what he tells ya don't match those…then he's obviously hidin' somethin'. If it does match, well then…you're likely gettin' the full details from one 'a the only people in this world who truly knows what happened in the kid's life – the kid himself."

"Yeah…I guess," Dean muttered. Bobby continued.

"And if that ain't enough, play it with a little lie yourself…tell 'im you know way more about 'im than you talked about in the warehouse…make 'im think he's _gotta_ tell the truth 'cause you'll know if he ain't."

Dean nodded slowly, mulling it over. "Yeah…yeah, I suppose that could work."

"Yep. But just one more thing," the older hunter cautioned. "Don't go playin' it like some kinda bad-cop interrogation…give the kid a chance. Show 'im some consideration instead of immediate persecution…and he's more likely to show you the same, along with immediate honesty."

"Point taken," Dean assured. "I'll be the kid's best friend…just as long as he makes the truth his."

"Sounds like a fair 'nough compromise to me," Bobby approved. "And I'm glad we reached it…looks like the show's about to start."

Dean's eyes cut to the sprawled out form on the bed as he heard the rustling of sheets and long hair against the pillow. Much like in the car, a soft sigh and fluttering lashes followed as Sam gradually awoke, yawning and rubbing his eyes and looking more like an overgrown toddler than a twenty-something young man. The sleepy blue-greens focused upon seeing the two hunters staring expectantly. "Wha…where'm I again?"

Dean wasn't surprised by the question. "Motel, kid, the Come On Inn, Lebanon, Missouri. I'm Dean, he's Bobby, you're Sam, and you were out of it 'cause you just finished exorcising a demon back in a warehouse with your mind…anything else?"

Sam's eyes grew almost comically wide, but the raw fear in them was anything but funny. "H-hunters?" The green-eyed man shook his head and sighed.

"Yeah, kid, we've been over this before…but get a grip. Don't you think that if we wanted to kill you, you'd have been dead by now? All it would've taken was a knife across your throat while you were off in dreamland there…you woulda never seen it comin'."

The young psychic reflexively laid a startled, protective hand on his long – and thankfully unmarred – neck at the tactless statement, prompting Bobby to clear his throat loudly and shoot Dean a warning glare. "You know, if you're lookin' to make our guest here feel at ease, that _ain't _a good start, boy."

"Sorry, Bobby," Dean submitted. "Just sayin'…"

"Ain't me ya need to apologize to, ya idjit!"

"Oh, right," Dean met Sam's eyes, a sheepish look in his own. "Sorry, kid…_Sam_. No offense meant."

Sam swallowed thickly, lowering his hand back to his lap hesitantly. "Uh, right…none taken."

"Cool. So, anyway," Dean slapped his hands on his knees as he stood from his chair, "you remember the exorcism and when you fainted like a girl and everything?"

"Uh…yeah," Sam replied with a wary look in Dean's direction.

"Good. So we can just get down to business then." Dean fixed the younger man with a stern stare. "I wanna know all about you, Sam. I know I said I already _did_ in the warehouse, but…I was bluffing. I don't know everything about you…but I do know _a lot _about you. A lot more than I elaborated on in that warehouse, so…fair warning. I'm willing to give you the chance to tell your side of the story…but if what you're givin' me is complete bullshit? I'll know. And it's one, two, three strikes you're out…got me?"

"Good grief…" Bobby grumbled. "Excuse me for interrupting ya, Dirty Harry Carey, but can we get on with whatever the hell it is we're gettin' on with…and do so more like how we _planned_ it?"

"Planned?" came the anxious voice from across the room, long sprawled-out limbs withdrawing into a defensive pose. "What're you gonna do to me?"

"Oh Jesus, kid, would ya quit askin' that?" Dean complained with an eye roll. "We're just gonna ask you some questions…that's it. I take back the aggression, okay? We wanna get to know you better…you're stayin' in our room, after all. Plus…we _are_ hunters, and you're a psychic kid with supernatural powers like we've never seen before…and we let you go. We've let you live and we plan on keepin' it that way. Prove to us that we aren't makin' a mistake…tell us who you really are, kid. What you've really been through."

_Is this guy freakin' serious?! _Sam snorted derisively. "Well jeez; my life so far could fill a book…a horror novel, mind you. Where do you want me to start?"

"Just the fact, Sam, just the facts…" Dean smirked at his own pop-culture reference while Bobby rolled his eyes. "And where else…start at the beginning."

The younger man sat up straight on the edge of the bed and barked out a bitter laugh. "Ha…I don't even _remember_ the beginning. All this started when I was just six months old, according to what…_others _told me. That's how old I was when I got dropped off at a shelter by God knows who and for what reason…apparently like you said, all I had to me was my name. And my birth date, I guess, which is the only way I know how old I am but anyway…then I got adopted; again, according to what I was told. Their names were Peter and Vicky Reilly of Lincoln, Nebraska…I barely remember them. Vicky was killed in a fire when I was two…and they accused Peter of setting it. They took him to prison…and they took me into state custody."

"And who exactly told you all this, kid?" Dean inquired evenly.

Sam's expression became wistful, his voice somber. "Pastor Jim Murphy…he was the one who took care of me most of my life. He knew Vicky really well; she was a member of his congregation in Minnesota before she met Peter and moved to Lincoln. He didn't think Peter did it when he heard about what happened, so he came down and found me and ended up becoming my legal guardian. He did it 'cause he was convinced Peter was gonna be proven innocent and get out someday and didn't want me lost somewhere in the system when that day came, but…it never did. Peter died in prison…shank in the stomach. Eyewitnesses said that the prisoners killed him just for the hell of it. So Pastor Jim kept me…let me grow up as in the dark as possible, then finally told me all this stuff when I was ten. Showed me newspaper clippings, police reports, the works…let me get to know the family I never got to know."

"Sounds like he was a good man," Bobby intoned respectfully.

"He was," Sam replied with reverence. "Like I said, he just let me be a kid without all that baggage for as long as he could…he encouraged me to work hard in school, to make friends, and to _always_, no matter what, have faith. And he taught me about the supernatural, when I was old enough…made sure I knew what was out there. It scared me, yeah, but I just felt…_safer _with him, somehow. With someone who knew about that stuff and knew how to handle it, ya know?"

"Yeah," Dean responded quietly. "I know."

"So…there's not much to say about that time, except that it was good. Life was just…normal. I knew about all the things that go bump in the night, but Pastor Jim kept me safe…kept me away from that life. He helped other so-called hunters occasionally, but he never got me involved in any of it. And I preferred it that way. I just went on with school and pushed myself as hard as I could with that, and ended up graduating high school as valedictorian and getting a full ride to college."

Dean nodded. "Nice…Stanford, right?"

"Yeah…I was studying to become a lawyer…and that's where I met Jess. I loved her…so much. She was amazing, beautiful in every way a person can be…and I was so happy with her, wanted to marry her…was going to. And then…"

"Go on, son…" Bobby prodded gently when Sam paused for too long, staring down at his feet.

The young psychic hesitated for a few seconds more and then raised his bowed head, large eyes shimmering with emotion. "She died. She burned…on the ceiling and I…I couldn't save her."

"On the _ceiling_?" Dean echoed, shooting a shocked glance to Bobby who returned it with just as much bewilderment. "Kid…did we just hear you right?"

"Yes," Sam quickly answered. "Look I know it sounds insane and impossible and God knows I didn't know what to think when it happened. I just…I broke down. I called Pastor Jim and he came and got me and when we got back to his house, he sat me down and told me that it was a demon who did that…a freakin' _demon_ and I didn't know what to think. I didn't understand why a demon would be after me…didn't believe one had any reason to be and then…then it killed him too. The same way. And I knew…I knew it was 'cause of me that the two people I loved most in life were dead, and that it was probably why Vicky died too…I knew it was my fault. And I ran…I didn't look back. I didn't want anyone else to die…"

Dean's heart sank when he saw a tear spill from one of Sam's wide eyes, and he instantly felt an overwhelming need to comfort the boy, even though his journal was screaming for the new information. A possibly major revelation had just come to light…several of the psychic kids' loved ones had died in fires, and the hunting community had always assumed that the kids' abilities were the cause of them, whether voluntarily or involuntarily. But according to _this_ psychic kid, the last of his kind, it had been a demon to do the killings – most likely _the _Demon…Azazel himself. And he had used the same method that he'd used on Dean's own mother for Sam's loved ones…it was a shock. And it brought horrible memories flooding back for Dean just as it did Sam. He didn't remember the night of the fire…but his father had told him all the graphic details. He could almost picture it in his mind's eye. _But Sam…_

Sam had _lived_ it. Witnessed it, and done so recently to boot…there would never be forgetting of any sort for him. And it was that fact that prompted Dean to walk over and put a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder while Bobby looked on sadly, consoling him as best he could. "Hey…Sam…it's okay. You've done good…you can stop now."

Sam glanced up in surprise at the sudden contact, trying his hardest to sniff back and swallow his tears. "N-no…I wanna finish. You said you wanted to know everything…that's not everything. Not even close."

Dean squeezed his shoulder before backing away and returning to his seat. "I know it's not, kid…but consider this a bit of a time-out for _your _life's story."

"What do you mean…why?" Sam asked bemusedly, giving Dean his full attention in anticipation of the answer.

Dean met his gaze earnestly. "I mean for you to take a little break from talking and_ listen _instead…'cause before you tell the rest of yours…you need to hear mine first."

TBC…

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: So there's part one of the bulk of Sam's back-story…but before we hear part two, looks like Dean has some things to tell Sam himself, and _about_ himself. We'll see if anything Dean says jumps out at Sam in the next chapter, or vice-versa, and – even though Dean and Bobby have finally taken off their blinders concerning the research on Sam – just how well the two hunters take the rest of his revelations. But, be assured that this won't be the _last_ of them on the part of either boy…more are on the way, so if y'all still have some questions after the next chapter, that's perfectly fine…you'll get all the answers eventually! I hope the answers you've now got from _this_ chapter worked, though!

And also, two little notes…first off, Lebanon, Missouri, and Cedar Springs, Alabama are two real places (that I Googled, LOL) used for fictional purposes in this story…there is likely no Come On Inn or history of demon attacks, respectively, in these locales! LOL. Second, for those of you not familiar with the name, Harry Carey was a famous, now late former announcer for the Chicago Cubs, well known for always leading the audience in the song "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" in the seventh-inning stretch. I know this b/c my grandfather, though he was a Philadelphia Phillies fan all the way and all his life, also watched a lot of Cubs baseball games, many of which I watched with him growing up…love and miss you, Pops!

Chapter 6 will be up Thursday, and the usual thanks goes to my LLS for the beta and to all of you for reading, favoriting, and leaving feedback…I do so love seeing those review alerts in my inbox! :-D


	6. Chapter 6

DISCLAIMER: If I owned _Supernatural_ in any way, Sam and Dean would've totally done a hunt in West Virginia by now! I mean, the Mothman, Moundsville State Penitentiary, old abandoned coal mines…it's not like we have a shortage of hauntings in this home state of mine! And the boys could stay at my house instead of a motel, naturally…I'd treat them right! ;-)

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Bless the Broken Road**

PREVIOUSLY: _Dean met his gaze earnestly. "I mean for you to take a little break from talking and _listen_ instead…'cause before you tell the rest of yours…you need to hear mine first."_

**Chapter 6**

"What does any of your history have to do with mine?" Sam asked with a raised brow.

"Plenty, kid," Dean replied coolly. "For starters, let's go with the fact that I definitely believe your story of your girlfriend burning on the ceiling…'cause my mom died in the same way. When I was four years old…according to what my dad told me."

"What?" Complete shock registered in Sam's face and breathless voice. "But…how…why, you—"

"His name was Azazel, kid…a.k.a. the Yellow-Eyed Demon. Been a thorn in my side ever since before I could even tie my shoes. Killed my mom like that, have no idea why to this day since I don't have abilities like you, but…it happened. And my dad wouldn't let it go. He became a hunter…vowed vengeance on the son of bitch no matter what, and trained me to be a hunter too as soon as I was old enough to hold a gun."

Sam shut his eyes, remembering how carefree his childhood had been up until and even after he'd learned of the supernatural, how Pastor Jim had shielded him from the hunt instead of forcing him into it…and felt his heart ache for the practical stranger sitting across from him who had apparently never had that kind of innocence. "God, I'm…I'm sorry," Sam uttered sympathetically. "Where…where's your dad now?"

"Dead," Dean answered simply, suppressing the grief. He noticed Sam's mouth opening once more, likely to apologize again, and headed it off at the pass. "Save it, kid. Guy knew what he was doing. Ol' Yellow Eyes did too…caused us to get into a car crash when we got too close to killing him. I got hurt…was pretty much a terminal case. But Dad traded his soul and a special demon-killing gun for me…and I got to be topside for almost a year while he was downstairs in Hell, yes, _the _Hell, payin' his penance. 'Course Dad's out now, got out when the Devil's Gate opened…his spirit helped me _kill _that yellow-eyed son of a bitch. And God did I enjoy it."

Sam straightened even more at this. "What…he's dead? The Demon's dead…the one that killed—"

"Just about everybody close to you and me?" Dean finished for the boy. "Yep. Shot him myself with that gun, right in the head…felt damn good. That bein' said though…s'kinda weird that you've still got your powers with him gone, I mean…cuttin' the head off the snake and all." Dean settled back in his seat, ready to once again listen. "You're up again, kid…care to tell us all about these powers of yours?"

Silence stretched between the two young men for almost a minute, and Dean was beginning to think someone would have to beat it out of the kid when finally a soft, guarded voice met his ears.

"It started when I was twenty-two, I guess…I started having these vivid dreams, nightmares of…people dying. And they started coming true. And after Jess and Jim were gone, I…I started trying to do something about it, to somehow save the people I saw before it could happen…most of them I couldn't, though. But I kept trying. And soon I also figured out that I could get these random bursts of telekinesis when something bad was about to happen, something bad that I couldn't stop in any _normal _way. I was scared ya know, I mean, who wouldn't be…sometimes I was even scared of _myself_, but…for better or worse I could do these things, so I just tried to help people, whenever I could."

"Well…" Dean conceded, "guess that's more than we can say for the rest of the kids like you, eh? When did you find out you weren't alone?"

"Not until South Dakota…Cold Oak, I think you called it," Sam answered truthfully. "I mean, I sat down in a diner, barely remember all these weird things that happened all at once…and then I woke up in what looked like somethin' out of the Old West. _Freakin' Frontier Land_, as one of the other kids called it."

"Tell us about the other kids," Bobby requested gently.

Sam searched his memory. "There were four others besides me. Andy was the other kid I just told you about…he was cool. His power was mind control. Lily was real stand-offish the whole time, but I guess looking back I can understand that since she could make people's hearts stop just by touching them. She was the first to die, and Ava…Ava seemed nice at first, had visions like me, but…she was actually the one doing the killing. She'd been there a while, actually…_flipped her switch_ is what she called it…learned how to control demons. Killed Andy…tried to kill me, but Jake snapped her neck before she could. And Jake was…I liked him too, at first, you know? He had super-strength. It was just me and him left, and I told him we could both get out of there, to hell with what the Demon wanted, which was for there to only be one of us left alive, but…he didn't listen."

Dean nodded. "And what _did_ he do?"

Sam hesitated for a few seconds and then stood, shedding his jacket before turning around and raising the hems of his shirts to expose the middle of his back to Dean and Bobby. "He stabbed me."

The two hunters couldn't help but suck in a breath at the sight of the mostly-healed, but still large scar near Sam's spine, a streak of unsightly, puckered white marring the expanse of otherwise smooth, golden-tan skin. For a few beats, Dean could only stare at it…but then finally got up enough nerve to ask the question that had been plaguing him ever since he read the research on the young man in front of him. "Damn, kid…how did you survive?"

Sam lowered his shirts back and again took his seat on the edge of the bed, meeting Dean's expectant stare with earnest blue-green eyes. "I barely did. He was aiming to kill, I know…intended to cut through my spinal cord. But…I heard him coming up behind me at the last second, feinted as much as I could to the side…and he missed by centimeters without knowing it. He left me for dead, bleeding, and I drifted for a while after he was gone. But when I came to…I started fighting to live. I dragged myself indoors, patched myself up and staunched the bleeding as best I could…and then I made my way out of the woods. Back to civilization. I was dizzy and shaking and really weak, yeah…but somehow I got to a road. And someone found me and got me help."

Bobby shook his head in wonder. "Wow…that sure is somethin' else, kid."

"I guess," Sam murmured. "I just wish I would've stopped Jake when I had the chance. I thought about it, but I just…couldn't. He was a scared kid when he was there, just like me…I didn't wanna kill him."

"S'good for you, kid," Dean gave a small smile. "And you don't have to worry about that anymore, by the way…_we_ killed Jake. He opened the Devil's Gate for Azazel and we couldn't really let him off scot-free for that, ya know?"

"Oh." Sam nodded, but deep down still felt that unwelcome twinge of remorse for the scared kid Jake_ had _been. "Hey, by the way, what exactly is the Devil's Gate? You keep mentioning it, so…" Sam trailed off.

"Just what it sounds like it is, kid; it's a gate to Hell," Dean answered shortly. "One that we were thankfully able to shut…but not before tons of demons came out of it, hate to say. And that brings us to the present, I suppose…" Calm emerald eyes turned deadly serious in an instant. "How did you learn to exorcise demons with your mind?"

The young hunter expected to hear the proverbial sound of crickets chirping in response to his clipped question, maybe even the sound of Sam's large feet pounding the carpet as he attempted to bolt out the door. What he _didn't _expect, though…was the quick, simple admission that he got.

"It was an accident."

Dean cast a skeptical, unsure look Bobby's way, who returned the favor. He then shifted his eyes back to the kid. "Explain."

Sam took a deep breath…this was obviously match point. _Here goes nothing… _"Okay. I…I started hunting demons, kinda like you guys I guess, after my stab wound healed. I didn't know that you'd already killed the demon that did all this to me, and I wanted to find him and kill him myself…'cause by then I knew he was never gonna leave me alone, knew that he probably somehow figured out that I was still alive. I just wanted it all to end, whether his end or mine…it didn't matter anymore, since I had no one left. So I started looking for demon signs; Pastor Jim had taught me what they were in those two weeks after Jess died…and before _he_ died. And I went wherever I found them, to stop them…kinda hoping that one of them would end up being _the_ Demon. But even though none of them turned out to be, I still wanted to help the people, so…I went around doing traditional exorcisms that I'd learned from Pastor Jim there for a while, living in my stolen cars till I could hustle enough pool for a motel."

Dean kept his stare level. "And you made the switch from traditional to supernatural _because_…?"

"Because I got cornered," Sam responded bluntly. "I thought I was taking on one demon…there ended up being four. One of them had an especially healthy bloodlust, was comin' at me with an axe, ready to chop off my head like he'd done to his other victims. He got ten steps from me running at full speed and I just…flung out my hand, last desperate act of a dying man, ya know? Reflex. But...something happened. Or well…_nothing_ happened, I guess. As in I noticed I was still breathing and in one piece…so I opened my eyes and saw that the possessed guy had stopped in his tracks, choking. And my arm was shaking, felt like there was this…_force_ running through it that I'd never felt before. And the other three demons were staring at me like I was some kind of god with thunderbolts in my hand or something…and I put it all together."

Sam paused, seeming to disappear inside himself for a moment before pressing on. "I realized it was something _I_ was doing, ya know? So I kept my hand there. And I looked at that possessed guy and suddenly realized that I could actually _see_ the demon, see the black smoke inside of his body…so I concentrated on it; saw myself grabbing it and jerking it out of the guy in my mind's eye…and I made the motions with my hand, too. And this blinding pain started shooting through my head, felt like it was gonna explode, but I had the demon and didn't wanna let it go, so…I didn't. I kept…_pulling_, and the next thing I knew, it was gone. Not just exorcised either…actually _dead_. And the possessed guy was somehow still alive…so I'd saved him, I guessed."

"And the other three demons?" Bobby asked, rapt gaze fixed on the boy on the bed.

"Left," Sam replied, lingering awe in his own voice. "They just left, shot right out of their hosts like bats out of Hell, so to speak…_fled_. From me." The young psychic shook his head as if he was still in disbelief of the scenario, running a shaky hand through his wavy chestnut hair. "I took a while to recover after that, both from the pain _and_ the shock, kind of. I checked the other three hosts…two of them were already dead, but one and the axe guy were still alive, so…I placed an anonymous 911 call and then got the hell out there, got the hell out of that whole town. And I told myself that wasn't gonna happen again, that I was gonna stop hunting demons, but…deep down I knew, ya know? I knew that was all that was left for me…the only way I could still make a positive difference in the world. So…" Sam finished, looking across at the two older hunters anxiously. "Here I am…what's the verdict?"

The question, even when coupled with those wide, wary eyes, was a courageous one…and one Dean still didn't really even know the answer to himself. But he did know what it _wasn't_…and that would have to be enough for the moment. "Well…it's not a death sentence if that's what you're worried about."

Sam couldn't help but exhale shakily in relief before slightly tensing up again. "Okay, good…but what is it then?"

"Don't know yet, kid," Dean answered absently, now in thought. "Maybe a little community service…you come with us on a couple of hunts and prove once and for all that I can buy what you've been sellin'?"

Bobby's eyes narrowed in reproach while Sam's simultaneously widened further in consternation. "But…but I was telling the truth to you! I swear _on my life_ I was…but you're gonna keep me on some kind of leash just because you're still suspicious?"

"For both our safety and your own," Dean replied with an apathetic shrug, but deep down the emotion was much different. He had read the truth in the boy's eyes…and God help him, he really _did_ like this Sam kid to his chagrin…felt an inexplicable connection to him. And now…he wanted more than ever to protect him.

If Bobby sensed that, though, he didn't show it. "Dean…what the hell are you doin'? We can't put a ball and chain on this kid an' drag him around from hunt to hunt with us…he's got a life of his own. He's stated his case with us, and I'm feelin' that we got nothin' but honesty here…we've gotta let 'im go now."

Dean rose briskly from his seat and fixed Bobby with a stern glare. "A word outside with you, if you don't mind." Upon Bobby's eye roll and reluctant nod, he then addressed the kid. "Hey Sam…we'll be right back before you can say 'Christo'; don't go anywhere." Sam also nodded, and Dean smiled, pleased to note the lack of a flinch upon his utterance of the Latin word for Christ…a reaction which usually signaled a demonic presence within. A few steps had him outside of their room with Bobby, and they shut the door for privacy.

"Dean, I repeat…what the hell are you playin' at, here?" the elder hunter spoke first. "This kid ain't the monster we thought he was, and though I've gotta say he's got the eyes for it, he damn well ain't your puppy either. It's like he said…ya can't put 'im on a leash!"

"I know, Bobby, I know," Dean placated quickly. "But…it's weird, man, I just…I feel like if we let the kid go, it's gonna be a huge mistake. Not in that he's gonna go on some kind of killing spree as soon we let him loose, but…in that I feel like we'll never see him again if we let him go."

Bobby quirked a brow at the admission. "And you're suddenly opposed to that because…?"

Dean hemmed and hawed for a few seconds, then finally gave in. "Oh hell, Bobby, I'm just gonna say it, no ragging on me…I like the kid, okay? I feel…connected to him, somehow. I still can't explain it, but…it's there. And it only gets stronger the longer he's with us, and the more we get to know about him. Bobby…" Dean scrubbed a hand through his spiky hair. "I know this sounds crazy, but…I don't wanna keep the kid prisoner. I just wanna keep him _safe_."

Bobby stared shrewdly into Dean's eyes for a moment, reading the sincerity contained within before finally relenting. "Damn, boy…I'm almost thinkin' I should 'Christo' _you_, here. Didn't think you had any 'a this still in ya."

"I didn't _want_ any of this to still be in me, Bobby," Dean bit out. "But no matter how hard I fight against it, that kid in there's bringin' it out so…gotta do somethin' to shut that side of me up. 'Sides…it'll give us more time to keep an eye on the kid, make sure he's on the up and up."

"And if he is…?"

"Then I'll let him go," Dean surrendered. "But for now, he's with us…fair deal?"

"I guess," Bobby reluctantly agreed. "But before we do anything, we're gonna have ourselves a toast…to our new hunting partner." He showily patted the flask full of holy water mixed with light whiskey in his pocket, and Dean immediately got the gist.

"Good idea," he approved. "Let's go drink up."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

As the two hunters talked outside, Sam continued to sit on the edge of the bed in anticipation of their return, not moving just as they'd ordered him. _What the hell am I doing…I should be trying to get out, not sitting and staying like a good dog! _

The young psychic knew that he had been honest with the men, but he also knew just as surely that remaining with the hunters could easily spell his doom, at any moment and without any warning. His brain was berating his inaction, screaming for him to leave…but his heart was telling him different. He considered himself a pretty decent judge of character, and he could detect the caring nature underneath the bearded man's gruff exterior…along with the warm compassion that the younger hunter, Dean, had been valiantly trying to conceal behind a mask of icy indifference. And despite the many knives and loaded guns that the two men had easy access to, Sam also felt a bizarre sense of security around them…different from what he'd felt with Pastor Jim, but somehow very similar…

His musings were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open and the footsteps of the two hunters falling on the dirty carpet. "We're back, kid, miss us?" the younger one quipped with a wink. "And we brought you a little somethin'…"

Sam's heart froze inside his chest, not wanting to look up and see anything like a pair of open handcuffs awaiting his wrists, or worse, a gun barrel pointed at his face once again…but he knew there was no hiding forever. Nervously, he raised his gaze…only to be met with a small shot glass filled with amber liquid held out in offering.

Dean smiled as Sam hesitantly took the glass. "Don't worry, dude…s'not poisoned or anything." _At least not if you're only human…_ He clapped Bobby on the back as he came to stand beside him. "Me and my good friend Bobby here talked it over outside, and we're in agreement…you can stay with us for a while. Hunt with us…instead of doin' it all by your lonesome like I'm pretty sure you were gonna continue to do, right? Sound good?"

"Uh…" Sam stalled, apprehensively fiddling with and twisting the shot glass between his fingers. "…I guess so."

"Awesome," Dean grinned. "So, a toast then. To us, me and Bobby…and our new hunting partner – Sam Murphy, Psychic Wonder. Cheers." The Winchester clinked his glass against the other two before downing the liquid, watching and listening with attentive eyes and ears as Sam did the same. But only a cough and the clearing of a throat could be heard, followed by Sam's slightly embarrassed voice.

"Sorry, um…just strong. Not a big whiskey drinker. Only ever use it for a quick and simple anesthetic, really."

Dean smirked. "S'okay, kid…we've gotta have one lightweight in the bunch." He clasped a hand to Sam's shoulder, squeezing it in a gesture of acceptance. "Welcome to the Winchester-Singer hunting club, Sam."

"You mean Singer-Winchester, ya idjit," came Bobby's droll response.

"Says who?"

"Says me, the oldest.

"Oh come on, since when does that matter?"

"It's a little thing called seniority, son."

"Hmph. Well by all means then, old man…age before beauty."

"Beauty my ass…"

"Which is _not _something I'd call beautiful, dude, just sayin'…"

The banter between the two older hunters could've gone on all day, but they both had to take a time-out when somewhat shy but still high-pitched giggling met their ears, as if the person was trying to contain the laughter. They looked over to see Sam's knuckles pressed tightly to his mouth, twin dimples out in full-force and eyes shining with amusement. The sight and sound warmed something that had been cold inside them for many years…especially in Dean's case.

"What's so funny," the blond hunter demanded in mock-anger that Sam saw right through.

"Nothing…maybe to settle it like gentlemen you should just go with traditional alphabetical order, though."

"Good suggestion," Bobby agreed, knowing his name would be first and smirking triumphantly at Dean. "And since this idjit prob'ly don't even _know_ his alphabet, I'll clarify for 'im…Singer-Winchester it is!"

"Wrong," Sam corrected him with a bright, impish smile. "Now it's _Murphy_-Singer-Winchester."

The two older men's retorts caught on the tips of their tongues. The kid was right…and could obviously match wits with the both of them. Dean rolled his eyes. "Damn…sounds like a bad law firm or somethin'."

"Or somethin'," Bobby echoed. "Now let's get to doin' what our _real_ profession calls for and find ourselves a hunt."

"No need." Dean gestured to a local newspaper lying on the small desk that he'd picked up from a convenience store on their drive into the state. "Already found us one…actually had it lined up as Plan B for this area just in case our, um…_original hunt _didn't pan out like we planned." He shot an awkward glance to Sam. "And this _definitely_ isn't what we planned."

And just like that, Sam was sharply reminded that the hunters, no matter how companionable they seemed now, still had the capability and the mind to harm him if he accidentally stepped out of line…he would have to tread carefully. The three of them still had a long way to go. He merely plastered on a smile instead of showing his discomfort, though. "Yeah…I guess not. So where's this new hunt…and what is it? I've kinda only ever hunted demons, so…"

"About twenty miles south of here, town called Brush Creek," Dean answered. "Poltergeist. And don't worry…we'll show you how it's done, kid."

At Sam's nod, Bobby slapped his knees and stood up from the desk where he'd quickly read about the newest paranormal perpetrator on their radar. "Alright then," he declared with a level stare at the two younger men. "Brush Creek, here we come."

TBC…

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: Well all of you can breathe a big sigh of relief now…Sam has passed all the tests and expectations of Dean and Bobby, and once again, our favorite older brother just couldn't let the kid go his separate ways from them…so on the road the trio goes! Also, what did I tell y'all? No demon blood drinking in this story…I think it's perfectly reasonable that Sam could still have these same powers without it; as Ruby herself said, he didn't need the extra blood…and like in the S3 finale, that he would discover he had the enhanced powers by accident, while merely frantically defending himself.

I hope the second half of the major bulk of Sam's revelations has been satisfying, and like I said, fear not if you still have a few questions b/c we've still got a few more important ones yet to come from both boys…and even one from Bobby, too, though it was revealed in canon as well. Continuing thanks to my LLS for the beta work and to all of you who are reading and reviewing…your enthusiastic words keep _me_ enthusiastic to post new chapters! And the newest one will be up Saturday, with things picking up steam...hope to see you back for it! :-D


	7. Chapter 7

DISCLAIMER: I finally tracked down Kripke and struck a deal with him…anything he wanted in return for him forking over the rights to _Supernatural_! But to my horror, as soon as I shook his hand, his face started transforming until he became…Lucifer! Great, now I've _literally_ made a deal with the Devil…so is it possible he just wanted a Coke or something? :-o

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Bless the Broken Road**

PREVIOUSLY: _At Sam's nod, Bobby slapped his knees and stood up from the desk where he'd quickly read about the newest paranormal perpetrator on their radar. "Alright then," he declared with a level stare at the two younger men. "Brush Creek, here we come."_

**Chapter 7**

To the two older men's surprise and gratification, the poltergeist hunt had gone off without a hitch. Sam was an excellent student, attentive and obedient…as long as he had no questions, that was. He was also relatively skilled with the weapons and above all, his head was filled with knowledge – so much so that Dean had deemed him a "walking encyclopedia of weirdness" at one point. It was clear that he had thrived in all manners under Pastor Jim Murphy's tutelage concerning the supernatural – even though demons had been the only thing on his résumé up to that point – just as Dean had under his father's and Bobby's, and the last surviving Winchester so far had no regrets on his decision to take the kid under their wing.

But the reasons for that, he had to admit, went beyond hunting.

Because in the few days he had spent with Sam, Dean was not only finding a new partner, but a new friend as well…a kindred spirit, practically. Sam was letting down his walls of self-protection more and more day by day around them, and Dean couldn't help but follow suit. Teasing and banter between the two of them became commonplace, with Bobby looking on fondly, and Dean had noticed that he'd even gotten away with calling the kid "Sammy" a time or two without correction…along with how oddly familiar the name felt when it passed through his lips…

Bobby too, in turn, had noticed some things about Dean's behavior around Sam, and vice-versa…and his struggles to keep it all to himself had become increasingly harder. He had never seen two completely different people who seemed to have such similar mannerisms – in everything from how they talked sometimes to how they moved. Hell, he'd even caught them accidentally speaking in stereo a couple of times or finishing each other's sentences, and Bobby had begun to grow suspicious that there was something more to the two young men than met the eye. True, Sam was still on his guard around them occasionally of course, and Dean still harbored shreds of reservation in his heart concerning the young psychic, but both were nonetheless slowly but surely loosening up and warming to each other…more frequently showing their true colors rather than staying hidden behind their masks of doubt and fear. And those said colors seemed to be…_eerily identical_ in their shades at some moments, leaving Bobby perplexed…because the only explanation for that would be that the boys were –

"_Related_." Dean's sudden statement jolted the salvage yard owner out of his ruminations as he pushed the Impala on to their next hunt in eastern Kansas. Sam had handled a poltergeist and an amateur teenage witch – who no, was _not_ named Sabrina to Dean's disappointment – with ease, and being that there had been no demon activity anywhere to speak of for the past few days, a vengeful spirit was next on the agenda. "Gregory Stanley was related to Louis and Martha Howell…well, Martha anyway. They were cousins…but what the real connection is from there, I have no idea."

"I do," Sam piped up from the backseat. "According to all this stuff I printed off from the county library before we left, Gregory took Martha in after both her parents fell victim to tuberculosis back in the late 1910s…raised her from the time she was three years old up until she turned sixteen and met Louis. The couple married two years after that and Louis rose to a high-ranking position, mayor of Eudora, Kansas."

"Nice," Dean muttered halfheartedly, trying to block out the thought of how close the town of Eudora was to the old Winchester stomping ground of Lawrence, Kansas…the one place he never wanted to see again, if he could help it. "And where did that leave our ghostly Greg?"

"Out in the cold, essentially," Sam answered with a frown. "Looks like Martha really took to the high life and forgot where she came from…or more importantly, just who got her to where she was. Gregory was still living in near poverty and apparently got so desperate as to beg for Martha's help…but she wouldn't lift a finger. Didn't wanna be associated in any way with someone that far down the social ladder."

"Hmph…nice girl," Bobby commented sardonically.

Sam shook his head sadly. "Yeah…and it got worse for Gregory. 'Cause soon after Martha turned him down, the Dust Bowl hit…and while that was of course disastrous for the entire state and just about everyone in it, it hit the poor especially hard. They compromised the largest percentage of casualties…Gregory was one of them. He died from a mixture of suffocation and heatstroke in the shantytown he lived in, while Martha and Louis stayed safe in their well-built home. Then around the time that the state finally started recovering from the Dust Bowl, strange things were reported happening in the couple's house, though it started out mostly tame…objects moving of their own volition, unexplained voices, the stench of all that prairie dust hanging thick in the air even after it was long gone…things like that. Then it escalated, started getting harmful, to the point where Louis and Martha started having trouble breathing and they feared for their lives. Martha was a believer in the paranormal though, and she suspected it might be Gregory, so she ordered his body retrieved from the shallow, unmarked grave it'd been tossed into and had it cremated. But the haunting didn't stop and they eventually moved out."

"Just like any others who've moved into the old place since then have ended up doing," Dean finished. "But you say the guy was cremated, right? Meaning no body to salt-n-burn."

"Then it's gotta be some kinda cursed object or human remains," Bobby proposed. "A lock of hair, an old drop of blood…somethin' like that. Does it say if Martha left anything when she moved out, Sam?"

"Yeah…she left everything, actually. She didn't know why she was still being haunted, and she didn't wanna take any chances. People have tried to modernize the house since then, of course, but a lot of Louis and Martha's stuff they left alone…some of them even testified to nearly getting sick when they tried removing this one particular thing."

Dean raised an intrigued brow. "And that is?"

"Martha's diary…it just sits there on an old table in the house's living room. It can apparently be touched, picked up even…_but_, anyone who tries to take it _out_ of that room immediately complains that it feels like they're choking." Sam met the older men's eyes pointedly in the rearview mirror. "On dust. And it doesn't stop until they either drop the thing or put it back."

Bobby nodded. "I'd say that's the culprit, then…good work, Sam. We torch the diary and we should be good to go."

"Well then let's get a move on," Dean added, pressing the gas pedal further. Ten more minutes of driving then found them at their destination.

The Howell house would've likely been impressive in its day. Folk Victorian-style, two-stories with a large, wrap-around front porch, a cobblestone walkway leading up to it, and a stately oak tree shading one side. But time and vacancy had worn down its former beauty; the windows were now dirty and broken, the wooden siding splintered and weathered with pale yellow paint peeling and flaking off all surfaces, the front porch rickety and dilapidated, and the walkway and yard nearly covered in ugly brown weeds and overgrowth. In other words…the classic haunted house.

"Why anyone would actually _wanna_ move into a place like this, you've got me," Dean grumbled as the trio stalked up the creaky steps to the front door with sawed-off shotguns in hand, loaded with rock salt and ready to fire. "I mean, doesn't this house just scream 'already occupied' to you?"

"I guess it does," Sam answered, even though he knew the question was rhetorical. "I think—"

"Hold that thought," Dean interrupted and then kicked in the rotted door with a flourish, granting them unauthorized entry. "Okie-dokie…continue."

"Okaaay…" the youngest man resumed with an amused shake of his head. "I was saying, I think that despite that possibility, people are attracted to and intrigued by the history of the place, maybe. Or hell…maybe for some of them, the prospect of a ghost being in their house is actually exciting."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah…and those are the ones that are a pain in our asses. Them and their Ouija boards and séances and thinkin' it's gonna be Casper when there usually ain't nothin' friendly about it."

"I hear ya," Bobby concurred. "But curiosity is human nature, for better or worse…that ain't gonna change no matter how many cases of harmful spirits ya get."

"Yeah, well…guess all we can do is make sure there's one less to worry about, then. But after this one? We're takin' a break."

'_Break…break…'_

The Winchester's words echoed unsettlingly in the silence of the abandoned structure. Old floorboards groaned under new weight as the three men made their way into the large foyer, Dean in the lead and Bobby bringing up the rear, with Sam protected between the two of them at Dean's insistence…much to the youngest man's chagrin. Faint morning sunlight spilled through the grimy windows, the weakness of the rays prompting the trio to employ their large flashlights as they continued further down the hall. Dean scanned the rooms with the strong beam from his, letting a low whistle. "Place is practically untouched in some of these areas…creepy. So, whadda'ya think of your first real live haunted house, Sammy?"

"I thought the poltergeist place was my first haunted house…and it's Sam."

Dean smirked. "Nah…that was technically an office building. I'm talkin' _this_," he spread his arms out in an all-encompassing gesture, "kinda thing. A haunted place that actually _looks_ haunted."

Sam panned his own flashlight around at the statement, taking in the old house…and he couldn't help but give a shudder. Dean was right. Wallpaper hung loose in jagged tears in several areas, while any bare walls were no longer white but yellowed and stained with age. Cobwebs were scattered about, clinging to the many antiques that lent their décor to the huge rooms…everything from tables and chairs, to clocks and old hurricane lamps, reminding Sam that electricity was a rare thing for homes back in that day and only to be used in moderation for those who had it. Pictures also lined the decaying walls, most of them still-life paintings with plant or animal subject matter, but a couple of them people whose eyes really _did_ seem to follow him wherever he went, cliché as it sounded. Peeking into open doors he could see, among other things, a bed with a large canopy over it, a fully-stocked kitchen that looked as though it was frozen in time, and what appeared to be a bathroom if the large, claw-footed tub was anything to go by. He cleared his throat.

"Um…like you said. Creepy. But, uh…when is the ghost gonna make his appearance?"

"Usually happens whenever we get close to whatever it is that's keepin' it around…be that a body or a personal effect or whatever," Bobby answered professionally. "Speakin' of…anybody spotted the diary yet?"

"No, I—"

"_Found it!_" Dean's voice sounded from a nearby room, cutting off Sam's reply and causing him to wonder just when the green-eyed hunter had separated from them.

They found the man in question standing in the doorway of a large sitting room, pointing at one corner of it with a triumphant grin on his face. But instead of getting commendations for his find, he got a brisk whack with Bobby's trucker's cap. "Ow! What was that for…I found the diary didn't I?"

"That was for goin' off alone, ya idjit…you know better than that."

"Yeah, yeah…" Dean muttered back huffily. "Now can we get this party started already?"

"Be careful what ya wish for, boy," Bobby warned. "'Cause I'd say we're likely to get an unwanted guest soon enough. You 'n Sam stay back there and cover me now while I try an' see exactly what secrets this here diary holds."

Both young men watched, Dean impatiently and Sam anxiously, as Bobby leafed through page after page unmolested, not even detecting the slightest change in air pressure or temperature that would signal the arrival of the spirit of Gregory Stanley. Minutes passed as he skimmed through the entries, and finally Dean began to grow restless. "Damn, I'm about to fall asleep standin' up here…anything yet?"

"Not much so far," Bobby replied while still bent over the book. "Just a lot of things about her husband, social gatherings, quilting sessions with her friends…wait a minute." Both boys' attention perked up at the words and the dirty, unopened envelope that the older man extracted from between two of the diary's pages. "It's addressed to Martha…let's see what it's all about."

No sooner had Bobby spoken the words than Sam felt a light breeze ruffle the hair on the back of his head, as if a fan had been turned on. But he knew there was no fan in the room, and the air was icy cold…which could only mean… "Dean! I think it's—_agh_!"

"Sam!" Dean shouted as the younger man was jerked backwards by an invisible force to slide along the scuffed hardwood floor in a tangle of long arms and legs. "Shit, Bobby!" Dean called over his shoulder as he rushed to defend the kid. "You're obviously onto somethin', keep it up!" Skidding to a halt beside the fallen psychic, he barely had enough time to raise his shotgun and fire at Gregory's rapidly approaching form, dispersing the entity long enough for him to haul a slightly dazed Sam back to his feet. "You see it coming, shoot it!" he ordered before turning back to Bobby. "Anything else?"

Bobby had planned to scan through the letter's contents quickly as he did his best to block out all the action behind him and his worry for the boys…but that proved to be unnecessary. Almost immediately, his eyes were drawn to the signature at the bottom, standing out in all its crimson glory amidst the rest of the words penned in black. He read the words written above the signature aloud. "My dearest cousin, I remember the truth, that no matter how far apart we grow we are still bound by blood. My only hope is that you will remember this also, before the end." _Bound by blood…that ain't no red ink! _He turned abruptly to Dean. "Blood, boys! Gregory wrote this letter and signed it in his own blood…human remains! Toss me the lighter!"

"Comin' right up!" Dean declared as he plunged his hand into his jacket pocket to retrieve the small item…and then suddenly went flying sideways across the room to smash into a glass curio cabinet.

"_Dean_, no!" Sam yelled as he instantly sprinted to the Winchester's aid, barely registering Bobby's frantic command behind him.

"Sam! Stay calm, Dean has to wait, you've gotta get that lighter to me and cover me!"

The young psychic nodded shakily as he dug the requested item out of Dean's jacket pocket, trying not to look at the blood that was slowly pooling under the older man's side.

"Get it over here, Sam, now!" Bobby urged, then watched with dismay as Sam's running feet were swept out from under him and the young man fell forward, the impact causing the lighter to come loose from his hand. Fortunately, however, it slid across the floor straight at the feet of the salvage yard owner.

_Un_fortunately, though…Gregory now had his spectral hands wrapped around Sam's long neck in a bruising, merciless grip. The boy's blue-green eyes were blown wide in panic, his face already suffusing with red under the assault…and he couldn't even lift his hand in a last ditch hope that his powers would work on a spirit as well, though he did try.

_Shit! _"Hang on, Sam!" Bobby snatched the lighter off the floor and flicked the flame to life with lightning speed, holding it to the corner of the letter and watching with relief as the brittle parchment immediately went up in hues of red, orange, and black.

Watching with even _greater_ relief as Gregory's spirit did the same seconds later…leaving Sam a gasping, sputtering mess on the floor.

"Sam," Bobby beckoned as he rushed to the young man's side and helped him into a sitting position. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah," the psychic assured in a breathless, raspy tone. "D-don't worry 'bout me…De…Dean's hurt."

But the eldest hunter was already across the room assessing his other companion before Sam could even get the words out. "Damn…he's got a glass shard stuck in his side. He ain't bleedin' out the mouth so it apparently missed all 'is vital organs, but it still ain't nothin' to mess with…we need to get 'im to a hospital. Carside triage ain't gonna cut it and the motel's too far away." He patted the Winchester's cheek. "Dean? Dean…can ya hear me, son?" His question was met with a low moan and twitching eyelids and Bobby pressed on. "That's it, boy…come on back."

"B'bby…ugh…_s'n 'fa b'tch_ s'mthin' burns…"

"You've got some glass in ya, Dean…you're gonna be fine. It's the hospital for ya though," Bobby informed the injured hunter as he and Sam gingerly lifted him off the dusty floor.

"Sh't…h't h'sptals…"

"I know, son…don't care for 'em much myself either. But our usual do-it-yourself patch-ups ain't gonna work this time. And sorry to say we've gotta leave the glass in ya side for now…you know how it goes."

"No bl'din."

"S'right."

"Sh't."

"I know."

"S'mmy?"

"Right here, dude," the youngest man replied, putting himself into Dean's line of vision with a soft smile on his face. "And it's Sam, remember?"

"Y'h, y'h…"

Reaching the Impala, Bobby instructed Sam to get in the backseat so that he could keep Dean stable on the ride to the hospital. The young psychic awkwardly allowed his lap to become a pillow for Dean's head, and he was thankful that the older man was only half-conscious or else he knew he'd never hear the end of it. "Good to go?" he questioned Bobby as the bearded hunter climbed behind the wheel.

"Yep," came the confirmation along with the start of the engine. "Now we've just gotta find the nearest hospital."

"I'm pretty sure there would be one in Lawrence," Sam proposed. "I saw the exit for that city; it's not far from here."

Bobby nodded. "Good eye, kid…sounds fine to me."

Sam nodded back, glancing briefly at Dean's closed eyes and then back up to Bobby. "M'sorry, ya know."

"What for?" Bobby queried, eyes narrowing at Sam in the rearview mirror.

"That Dean got hurt…maybe if I would've done something different it—"

"Now don't you go doin' that, boy," Bobby quickly scolded. "Damn, you and him are even more alike than I thought...."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he does the same thing," the gruff hunter responded with an exasperated sigh. "Blames 'imself for stuff that ain't at all his fault." Faded blue eyes met apologetic blue-green ones as Bobby looked over his shoulder at Sam. "You done good back there, kid…don't let this one incident convince ya otherwise. Dean's gonna be fine…he's had a lot worse than this, believe me. This is a paper cut to him."

"But I was freaked, I—"

"Had never hunted a spirit before," Bobby finished for the distraught boy. "True, on paper demons sound a whole lot tougher to deal with, but not for you…you're experienced with demons, you've got your powers…you've got an easy, surefire way of takin' 'em out. Ya didn't have that luxury with that ghost back there, though…it was a first for ya, whole different ballgame." Bobby flipped on the right blinker as the exit for Lawrence approached. "And like I said, for your first time…ya done good. Take it from someone who's been around the block, kid."

Sam took a few seconds before he reluctantly acquiesced. "Okay…thanks. But um, just for the record? The way I exorcise demons isn't easy _or _luxurious."

Bobby would've kicked himself if he could've, vivid memories of the boy's nosebleed and killer post-exorcism migraine leaping into his brain. "I know that, kid, sorry…didn't think 'fore I spoke, there."

"S'okay..." Sam forgave. "I guess I am starting to get a little better at it, though…the side-effects used to be a lot worse."

Bobby chuffed audibly. "Damn, boy…would hate to see worse than what we _did _see." Sam had no answer to that, and around twenty minutes of silence passed between them as the older man navigated the black classic into the outskirts of the city, within minutes locating a street that had a square blue sign labeled with a white "H" prominently displayed on a lamppost. After he'd driven down more streets with identical signs on their corners for some time, Bobby spoke up again. "How's he doin' back there?"

"Seems good. Breathing's even," Sam offered. "Strong, steady pulse. But every few minutes I think he feels a little bit of the pain, so…I hope we're almost there, anyway."

"Not just almost, kid," Bobby answered with a wave out the window to the large, pristine structure that finally appeared on their left. "We_ are_ here." The hunter deftly steered the Impala into the large parking lot, pulling into the first available space he saw before killing the engine and turning back to Sam. "Help me get 'im inside?"

And together the two men did just that, pleased and relieved when hospital staff gave immediate attention to Dean upon seeing the blood on his shirt and hearing what was wrong with him. They watched with hints of anxiety in their eyes as the Winchester was wheeled away on a gurney – the newly-conscious injured hunter grumbling at the nurses and orderlies all the while not to let any blood get on his leather jacket – and settled themselves in the waiting room chairs as he disappeared behind closed doors.

Both were unsure at that moment of who they felt sorrier for…Dean, or the poor souls assigned to take care of him and his hospital-induced grouchiness.

TBC…

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: Aw, poor Dean…Sam's first real _hard-knock_ hunt with him and Bobby, only it wasn't Sam who seemed to take the hardest knock, LOL...although, knowing Dean, he probably prefers himself to be hurt over Sam anyway. But one thing is the same for Sam, at least...ghosts still like to go for that neck of his! Hee-hee, couldn't resist it…

Aside from the hunts, though, looks like more and more puzzle pieces are starting to fall into place regarding a certain truth – with Bobby and even Dean himself increasingly noticing how well and quickly Sam has been fitting into the older Winchester's world…will that lead to something important? Well, if it does, what better place for that to happen than the city where it all began…

I so appreciate all the positive attention this story has been getting, and for that I thank my LLS for making sure everything is clean before I post, and my readers and reviewers for their kind words and continued feedback afterI post! LOL. The next chapter will be up Monday! :-D


	8. Chapter 8

DISCLAIMER: I don't own _Supernatural_…and I get tired of saying that. *sigh* But Jared owns two drawings of his dogs that I've done for him…and I NEVER get tired of saying that! *big grin* :-D

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Bless the Broken Road**

PREVIOUSLY: _Both were unsure at that moment of who they felt sorrier for…Dean, or the poor souls assigned to take care of him and his hospital-induced grouchiness._

**Chapter 8**

"Family for Dean Winchester?"

Both Sam and Bobby lifted their heads at the chipper voice, the older man addressing the young nurse it belonged to. "Yes?"

"Follow me, please," the woman said with a bright smile. "Mr. Winchester is settled in his room…his doctor will see you now." After making sure that the men were with her, she led them down a sterile, white hallway in which the smell of disinfectant hung thickly and sharply. Passing up a few rooms and waving friendly greetings to the handful of orderlies that were milling about, she finally stopped in front of one of the rooms, permitting the two men to enter ahead of her. "The doctor will be with you shortly," she assured before taking her leave to give them privacy with their loved one.

Both men felt a weight lift off their chests at the sight of Dean in standard hospital garb, in a standard hospital bed, looking perfectly healthy – if just a little pale still from his previous blood loss – and alert. "So…" the green-eyed hunter spoke up with a playful smirk on his face, "did I miss anything?"

"Nothin' much," Bobby answered as he grabbed chairs for himself and Sam. "Just an overly-perky nurse, far as I can recall."

The glint that leapt into Dean's eyes upon the statement was positively roguish. "Define what you mean by 'perky'."

"Oh for the love of…" Bobby rolled his eyes. "Do you _ever_ think with just your upstairs brain, boy?" He turned to Sam, still detecting some nervousness in the boy's posture and facial expression. "See? No further proof needed, kid…the idjit's fine. His brain's already back where it calls home – the gutter."

"Well at least I don't smother my brain under a hat twenty-four/seven, old man," came the witty response.

"See?" Bobby looked at Sam pointedly again. "Completely fine."

"Yep…that's what all the ladies tell me, too," Dean quipped with a shit-eating grin. "So…s'about time you two spring me from this joint, don't ya think? I feel bedsores comin' on already."

"Well if that's the case, Mr. Winchester, then I'm afraid you'll just have to endure for a little while longer," interrupted a short, balding doctor as he entered the room. "Gentlemen, my name is Kent Edwards, I'm the doctor who treated Dean," he addressed Bobby and Sam. "May I ask how the two of you know my patient?"

"We're his co-workers," Bobby deftly replied as he reached out to shake the physician's hand. "Robert Singer of Singer Salvage Yard, in South Dakota…the young'n over there's my new assistant, Sam. And the one in the bed's my other, long-time assistant." The bearded hunter's lies flowed effortlessly from his lips. "We were doin' a job down here for a customer friend' a mine when Dean had a bit of an accident, fell down some stairs while he was carryin' a sheet of glass an' got a couple shards stuck in 'im…scared us at first but luckily we were pretty close by here."

"Lucky, indeed," the doctor agreed. "Well as you probably guessed, the surgery went well…all of the glass has been removed and the stitching went smoothly, there should be minimal to no scarring." He continued on as he briskly assessed Dean's vitals. "Now he'll probably still feel a little pain in the area for a few days as it heals, especially today as he adjusts to the stitching, so with that in mind we'd like to keep him here for at least the rest of the day, just to be on the safe side. And if all stays well, you'll likely be able to take him home this evening." After scribbling a few things down on the chart at the foot of Dean's bed, Dr. Edwards turned back to Bobby. "Any questions or concerns?"

"I think we're fine, doc," the eldest hunter answered. "Thanks for patchin' 'im up."

"Not a problem," Dr. Edwards smiled as he handed Bobby a small slip of paper. "This is a prescription for some pain medication for him; you can either have it filled here at our pharmacy before you leave or at any common pharmacy, whichever you choose." He then gathered up his equipment with a warm smile at Dean. "Now I must go see to my other patients but Mr. Winchester, if you or your friends need me for any reason, feel free to have me paged. Mr. Singer, Sam, make yourselves comfortable…Nurse Nichols will be in shortly should you have any further general questions." With that, the doctor breezed his way out of the room, leaving the three hunters to each other.

"So…" Bobby broke the silence. "Feelin' any pain?"

"Not much," Dean shrugged. "They had me on the good stuff for the surgery…it hasn't completely worn off yet even though all the fun stuff has."

"And thank God for that," Bobby proclaimed, shuddering at the mere thought of dealing with a doped-up Dean. "You're still lookin' a little pale…I think it's a good idea for ya to stay a few more hours just in case, like the doc said."

Dean snorted derisively. "Damn quacks…they just wanna ratchet up the bill, far as I'm concerned. And speakin' of…"

"Paid for it," Bobby reassured. "Unlike you, I hold a decent job, after all…don't need any fake insurance."

"Thanks, man," Dean said sincerely before shifting his gaze to his other, thus far silent companion. "You doin' okay there, Sammy?" He frowned and sat up a little straighter as he noticed the darkened ligature marks peeking out from beneath the boy's navy-blue hoodie. "Damn, kid…what happened?"

"Oh…um…" Sam had to admit that he was a little taken aback, having thrown on the hoodie before entering the hospital in order to keep anyone from noticing the necklace of bruises surrounding his throat…which had worked so far with everyone.

Everyone except Dean, that was, apparently.

"It was Gregory," he admitted softly, staring down at his feet and letting his bangs hide his eyes. "He kind of took offense to me tryin' to get that lighter over to Bobby, I guess. Tripped me…tried to choke me."

"Shit…you okay?"

Sam couldn't help but raise his head at the concern he heard in Dean's voice, and met his stare. "Yeah…m'fine…was kinda worried about you more, actually."

"Relax, kid." Dean waved off the chick-flick moment with a cocky grin. "Takes more than a piece of glass and a cranky spook to bring down—"

"Dean Winchester?" An eager female voice cut off the blond hunter's boasting. All three men looked over to see a petite brunette with streaks of silver just starting to come into her hair enter the room, blue eyes twinkling. She approached the bed and gave the addressed man a warm smile. "_My_ how you've grown up…and handsomely, too."

Green eyes narrowed in confusion under a furrowed brow. "Thanks, uh…ma'am, but…do I know you?"

"Oh…you probably don't remember me, sweetie," the nurse replied as she began to busy herself around the room. "But I do remember you…you're John Winchester's son, right?"

"Uh…yeah," Dean cast a suspicious eye over the woman. "Did you know my dad or something, then?"

The nurse shook her head. "Not personally, actually…but I did meet him what seems like an age ago now, here at this hospital." She met Dean's eyes with an earnest look in her own. "I was the nurse assigned to him the night he came in here for smoke inhalation…I talked him through the days when you were in a coma."

Dean's eyes widened, and he swallowed thickly. "The fire? November 2nd, 1983?"

"That sounds about right," the woman confirmed. "My name is Nurse Teresa Nichols…you can just call me Teresa, though. And I'm very glad to see that you're doing alright now, Dean." She then took the hospital bed into consideration and backtracked. "Well…for the most part, anyway."

"Uh, thanks…me too."

"Dr. Edwards told me that everything looks good," Teresa mentioned as she wiped down Dean's beside table and then acknowledged the pair standing off to the side. "And who might these two equally handsome gentlemen be?" She smiled at the deadly glower the older one shot Dean upon his loud snort at the comment, and the sweet blush that took over the younger one's cheeks within seconds.

"The old coot's Bobby," Dean answered, mischievously stirring the pot with the grizzled man, who rolled his eyes before giving Teresa a friendly handshake in greeting.

"And this cutie?" the nurse pressed on, her matronly heart fluttering as the shaggy-haired boy shyly ducked his head with a small smile, dimples lining his increasingly pink cheeks.

"That's Sam…a real shrinking violet around the ladies, as you can see," Dean replied with a wink.

"_Sam_?" The young psychic tried not to squirm out of his shoes as Teresa raked a scrutinizing gaze over his lean frame. "_Wow_…I can hardly believe my eyes but I guess it really is you…you've got those same pretty blue-green eyes I remember." She then turned to Dean, a teasing grin on her face. "So it must not be a walk in the park to have a younger sibling who's taller than you, huh? I can't imagine if that was the case with my little sister, the taunts would…never quit…" She trailed off uncertainly as three pairs of eyes stared at her in utter bemusement. "Is something wrong?"

"Uh, actually, ma'am…that statement you made, I'm afraid," Bobby piped up first. "Dean doesn't have any younger siblings…he's an only child."

"I'm sorry?" the nurse replied with a frown on her face. "That's certainly not how I remember it…I had a family of three come in here – John, Dean, and Sam Winchester. I _interacted_ with all three. Dean was a very young child, and Sam was just a baby."

"Look, ma'am, I'm not tryin' to be argumentative or nothin'," Bobby placated, "but there is no _Sam_ Winchester…never was. It was always just John and Dean…ask the latter yourself."

"Bobby's right," Dean confirmed before Teresa even got the chance. "I don't have a brother…any sibling, for that matter."

"But," the woman stammered, growing upset, "but that makes no sense…I was one of the nurses who babysat Sam while your father recovered, while you lay in a coma. I brought Sam in to see John at least twice every day…he was a wreck after the fire and worried about you, so Sam stayed in the nursery for a couple of days until John was ready to take him back. It would be in our records—"

"Look, lady," Dean interrupted, his own agitation beginning to mount. "I don't know if you're thinkin' of some other Winchester family or if you need to be a patient yourself here in the psych ward…but _I have no brother_. And if anybody's gonna know that for sure, it's _me_."

"_And_ your father." A light bulb went off over Teresa's head. "Please just contact your father, he—"

"Died over two years ago," Dean shot down firmly, watching with grim satisfaction as the nurse cringed at her own mistake.

"Oh, Dean," Teresa stammered. "Oh God, I'm sorry…I'm just…I'm not trying to cause trouble here, please understand…there really was a Sam Winchester, not yet a year old and one of the sweetest babies I've ever cared for. That along with those big blue-green eyes and curly brown hair…" she added, not being able to help glancing over at the tall young brunet in the room. "I just couldn't forget him completely…not even for the mere couple of days we had him."

Brief uncertainty crossed Dean's face at the statement before he spoke. "Couple of days…that can't be right. You would've had him longer than that; Dad told me I was out of it for about a week…ya know, lady, you've rea—"

"Sam didn't stay here," Teresa corrected. "Not the whole time…your father dropped him off at your grandparents' house out-of-state as soon as he was recovered enough to leave the hospital. He said he would take Sam back when both you and he were well again."

"Grandparents?" Dean's confusion only grew. "Lady, I don't have any grandparents either…both sets died before I was born." An unreadable expression then bled into the hunter's green gaze. "Look…do you happen remember what state my so-called grandparents lived in, where my dad dropped off my _so-called_ brother? Ya know…outta curiosity."

"I believe it was Nebraska," Teresa answered. "Because I remember thinking well, at least he doesn't have that far to go…and I know it wasn't Oklahoma. I'm really ninety-nine percent sure it was Nebraska."

_Nebraska… _Bobby, listening silently on, felt his heart skip a beat at the state name. _The same state that the shelter Sam Murphy was left at is in… _A loud beep interrupted the bearded man's short-lived musings.

"Oh damn it," Teresa muttered, flashing a quick apologetic glance at the room's other occupants for the language. "I'm being paged…God, I feel like some sort of hit and run driver…I'm so sorry. I never meant to cause this kind of distress…I just thought—"

"It's okay, Teresa," Dean pacified. "I know you didn't, and look, I'll uh…I'll look into this, I guess. Though I don't exactly know how I'm gonna, but…I'll keep everything you said in mind."

"And get back in touch with me if you find anything, if you wouldn't mind?" The nurse shook her head self-effacingly. "I mean…I feel like I've come in and unraveled everything here, so…just let me know if any of these loose ends ever get tied up?"

Dean gave a small smile. "Well…you've taken care of me twice now, so…I guess that's the least I can do."

Teresa smiled in return as she backed her way out of the room. "Thank you…it was nice to see you again, Dean, and I really am sorry still for stirring things up." With that, the nurse quickly left, Bobby standing up just seconds later.

"Where you goin'?" Dean asked with a quirked brow.

"To get your prescription filled…need to do somethin' mundane after all this drama." Without waiting for a response, Bobby was out the door as well, picking up speed as he spied the brunette head a few feet in front of him in the hallway, getting ready to head up the stairs. "Ms. Nichols!" The salvage yard owner breathed out a sigh of relief as Teresa turned to him in surprise. "Quick question for ya."

"Fire away, Mr. Singer."

"Thanks…I was jus' wantin' to know…how much would it cost to do a DNA test for two people?"

Teresa's brows rose at the unconventional question before she answered. "Well…amounts would vary, if I had to guess, but this hospital can help to provide this service. I'm good friends with our resident specialist and he could probably have it done within this week or next at the latest…though if you don't mind my asking so, Mr. Singer…why do you want this done?"

"Because," Bobby began, fixing the nurse with an even stare, "I think you may be right about this Sam Winchester mystery."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Man," Dean grumbled as he picked at a loose thread on his blanket. "That nurse chick…what a whack-job. People that delusional shouldn't be allowed in the medical field, ya know?" The words fell from the hunter's mouth unabashedly, but deep down, he actually had some misgivings about the truth of them…and suspicions of his own about the truth of Teresa's. _She was just too insistent…too vivid… _And apparently, looking over at Sam's pensive face…he wasn't the only one. "Kid? Hey…Ground Control to Major Sam? Over?"

"Yeah…m'here." Sam murmured without a glance in Dean's direction.

"Here in _body_," Dean amended. "In mind? About a million miles away. Right?"

"Nah…just thinking." This time, Sam did meet Dean's gaze. "All the stuff that nurse said…you don't give an ounce of credit to any of it, then? You don't…wonder?"

"Wonder what?"

"If any of what she said is true…if you've really got a brother out there somewhere." Sam gave a quick shake of his head, flicking a stray lock of hair out of his eyes with the motion. "I mean…I know if it were me, I'd be really curious, eager to find out the truth and all…though there's not anything wrong with if you don't, just…I think it'd be really cool to have a brother, ya know? Or hell…for me to have _anybody_."

Dean remained silent at the heartfelt confession. The truth was, he didn't really need to imagine what it would be like to have a brother…because even though it wasn't by blood, he felt like he had already found one. Though, of course…he would never admit that kind of sappiness to Sam. _Sam…Sam Murphy…Sam-supposed-Winchester…popular first name, I guess._ After another moment more of quiet, the object of his reflection spoke.

"Sorry, man…I don't mean to encourage any of this, I just…" Sam's soulful blue-green eyes locked with Dean's guarded green ones. "If you _do_ have a brother out there…I really hope you find him. He'll be a lucky guy."

Dean outwardly shrugged off the statement with indifference, but inside was touched more than he ever thought he could be. _Damn, kid…and to think about a week ago I was supposed to kill you. _"Yeah, well…like I told her, I'll look into it." Sam seemed satisfied at that reassurance, and he and the older man sat in companionable silence until Bobby returned to the room, brown paper bag and two steaming cups in hand.

"Got 'em." The eldest hunter crossed over to set the newly-purchased pills on Dean's beside table. "Take two and _don't_ call me in the morning."

"Aww, you're such an old softie, Bobby," Dean grinned as he inspected the purchase. "What took ya so long, anyway?"

The older man hesitated before coming up with a practical reason. "Long line," he fibbed. The truth was that Bobby had spent most of that time talking to Teresa, who promised him the results of a completely confidential DNA test for Dean and Sam – along with a copy of Sam's birth records – within the week, delivered to his home address back in South Dakota. All Bobby had to do in the present was a tiny bit of prep-work…and this in mind, he handed one of the cups to the dark-haired psychic. "Got us some java…drink up while it's hot." He nodded at Sam's thanks…but little did the younger man know that it was in fact all part of the plan. The hospital already now had Dean's blood work in their bank, but Sam Murphy's DNA would have to come from a more discreet source, such as his saliva. Teresa had suggested getting him something to drink…and sure enough, Sam was already taking sips. Just like that, Bobby's work was done. Teresa would come back in to clean after they vacated the room and salvage the used cup from the trash, and then it would be off to the lab in order for the rim to be swabbed.

Unfortunately, but predictably, the whole process wasn't cheap, but deep down Bobby felt that not carrying through with would prove even more costly in the long run…to Dean and Sam. The parallels could no longer be ignored…the shared name 'Sam', John's lie that the boys' grandparents lived in Nebraska and the fact that Sam Murphy was dropped off at a shelter in that same state, the night of the fire having been in the same year as Sam's birth exactly six months apart, and Teresa's statement that the baby hadn't yet turned one year old… _It all adds up, damn it… _But the only thing that would cement the equation, Bobby knew, would be if the DNA results turned out positive.

And the eldest hunter couldn't help but hope that they would.

"So now can I bust outta here?" Dean implored, a whine starting to creep into his tone that snapped Bobby back to attention.

The older man glanced at the room's clock. "About a couple hours more, probably. Passed by Dr. Edwards on the way to the pharmacy and he told me he was workin' on drawin' up your discharge papers."

"Well hallelujah," Dean exclaimed with a tired eye roll. "But uh…can he work a little bit faster, maybe?"

"Nah," Bobby smirked. "We've at least gotta give Sam here time to finish up his coffee."

As promised, Dr. Edwards presented Dean with his discharge papers almost two hours later, and Teresa made her way into the room as soon as the coast was clear, easily spotting the lone discarded coffee cup in the waste bin.

"I really think you've found your little brother, Dean Winchester," she spoke into the emptiness as she retrieved the object, visuals of the young man with wavy brown hair and those expressive blue-green eyes flitting through her mind. "But you just simply don't know it…" _Yet._

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Two days after it pulled out of the hospital parking lot and as the secret DNA test was being conducted several miles and two states away, the classic black Impala rolled into Bobby Singer's driveway, its owner having taken his rightful place back behind the wheel. "Home sweet home, eh Bobby?"

"Or somethin' like that," the addressed man responded drolly before turning to the boy in the backseat with a warm smile. "Sam…welcome to my place. Ya make yourself at home now, ya hear?"

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam shyly smiled back. "Thanks for having me…I really appreciate it. I can pay you as soon as I get—"

"Nonsense, boy," Bobby interrupted. "Ya ain't gotta pay me a thing…I don't charge rent to friends. 'Sides, it'll be nice to have more company than this idjit here," he quipped with a nudge to Dean's shoulder.

The blond hunter shot Bobby a mock-offended glare. "Right back at ya, old man." His heart warmed at the sound of Sam's soft laughter…and then froze seconds later as a battered red-orange El Camino came into his view. "Oh _shit_…"

"Dean…" Bobby's voice was able to choke out through the sudden lump of anxiety in his throat. "Does that car belong to who I think it does?" Anger crept into his gruff tone at the mere thought. "Is your asshole of a pal an' partner crashin' _my_ house?"

"Looks like," Dean replied, swallowing thickly with a quick glance at Sam. "Kid…listen to me…you just follow mine and Bobby's lead, okay?"

"What do you mean?" Sam's orbs were suddenly wide and worried in the rearview mirror. "Dean…? What's goin' on? Who's here…is it a friend of yours?"

Dean shut his eyes in regret and shame. "Yeah…he's technically a friend of mine." He then reopened them, turning around to fix Sam with a stern, grave look to emphasize his next words…words that he prayed the young psychic would take to heart.

"But _mark my words_, kid…he's definitely no friend of yours."

TBC…

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: Uh-oh…well, some of you questioned if Gordon would be back; there's your answer! LOL. And not only is there that, but it also looks like a certain big secret may be revealed in due time, eh? Certainly Sam Winchester's birth records would open Dean's eyes to the fact that he has a brother, but the added DNA test results would prove that he need look no further for that brother than the Sam he already has…

So, will Bobby and Teresa's secret plan work to bring our boys to that final level of togetherness? And whether it does or not…what about Gordon? Hehe, things are starting to heat up on all fronts now…

BTW, about Dean using his real last name in the hospital in this chapter…remember that he first came to be wanted by the law because of the shape-shifter's killing spree in _Skin_. In that episode, the shape-shifter came to their attention through Sam's college friends, Rebecca and Zack, but of course in _this _verse for Dean, there was no Sam back then…therefore, there was no shape-shifter hunt either, and Dean never made a big enough blip on the law's radar to require constantly using an alias. Hope that makes sense.

So much thanks continues to go to my LLS for the beta, and to my readers and reviewers for all the awesome support and comments you've given me so far…I love it, and hope for more of it! LOL. :-D


	9. Chapter 9

DISCLAIMER: You know, I can't help but wonder…while everyone over in Vancouver is so distracted getting ready for the Winter Olympics, could that be a good time to infiltrate the _Supernatural_ set and try to overthrow Kripke's throne? Hmm…it's a thought. *plots*

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Bless the Broken Road**

PREVIOUSLY: _Dean shut his eyes in regret and shame. "Yeah…he's technically a friend of mine." He then reopened them, turning around to fix Sam with a stern, grave look to emphasize his next words…words that he prayed the young psychic would take to heart. _

"_But _mark my words_, kid…he's definitely no friend of yours."_

**Chapter 9**

Gordon Walker was enjoying a relaxing afternoon. Feet propped up, recliner kicked back, and plenty of food…and being honest with himself, the fact that it all belonged to Bobby Singer made it all the more satisfying. The old fool probably thought his house was impenetrable, and to the average person it likely would be…but not to a fellow hunter, and especially a more skilled one like himself. The dark-skinned man had gotten past Bobby's dog and picked the many locks with ease, needing a secure place to recoup after the exhausting but successful Wendigo hunt, and for once the hunter didn't want to put forth the effort of finding a place himself. Bobby's heavily fortified house would do just fine, he knew – plus, when the old man and Dean returned, they could have a good discussion concerning the next hunt, along with…_other matters _that had come to his attention.

He was just about to finally pick up the phone and call Dean when in walked the man himself, unannounced and unexpected with a fuming Bobby Singer in tow. He smiled inwardly. _This should be good… _

"Comfy there, are ya, Walker?" the older hunter almost literally growled. "It's a damn nice chair, I can attest to that…seein' as how it's _mine_, along with every other thing in this damn house! Just what the hell do you think you're doin' freeloadin' here without my permission…are you that crazy to think that breakin' into my house is a way to get on my good side?!"

"Well…that's just the point, Singer," Gordon answered coolly. "You would've never given me permission, not even if I'd asked…so I figured, hell, why ask? I needed a safe place to crash."

Bobby glowered. "Yeah, it's a safe place, all right…'cept for all that buckshot I own and use on intruders!"

"Well then…it's a good thing I'm a friend instead of an intruder, isn't it?" the hunter replied with a smirk. He heard Bobby mutter something that sounded like 'not in my book, ya ain't' under his breath, and his smile widened. He turned his attention to the other man now in the room. "So, Dean…long time, no see. Anything new on your end?"

"Couple of things," Dean answered nonchalantly. "Went on a few hunts with Bobby since the vampires."

"Really," Gordon commented, intrigued. "Thought you were comin' here to take a break…what kind of hunts were they?"

"Vengeful spirit was the latest one," Dean answered. "Before that, a witch and a poltergeist…and just a couple days after I got here, got a major hit on some demonic activity."

A sudden eagerness flooded Gordon's frame at the statement, and he turned cold eyes to Dean. "Did you check it out…was it that damn psychic kid we're lookin' for?"

The younger hunter suppressed a shudder, shrugging it off. _Here goes the lying… _He met Gordon's eyes with a casual look in his own. "Nah, 'fraid not…just a garden variety black-eyed bitch. We took care of it."

Gordon nodded, mulling the new information over and anticipating further revelations…but was immediately distracted within seconds by a tall shadow lurking in the doorway of the room. He straightened, looking in that direction. "So, Singer…" he spoke up with a pointed glance in Bobby's direction. "Ya got other company I should know about?"

"Actually, I do," Bobby answered evenly. "Only, unlike you, _this_ company's welcome here."

Gordon disengaged the recliner's footrest and rose from his seat, looking expectantly at the dark silhouette. "Well, tell whoever it is not to be shy…let 'em step into the light, lest I start thinkin' they're a Fang and go for my crossbow."

"Fine," Bobby gritted his teeth in disapproval of the hunter's taunt, and then looked over his shoulder to Sam. "Come on out, kid…you're safe here."

Gordon's dark eyes narrowed as he took in the long, lean form that came into view…a young man – probably twenty-something if the hunter had to guess – with a mass of dark tousled hair atop his head and wide, wary eyes set into his boyish face. He gave a tiny smile in greeting, which Gordon returned with a nod before shifting his gaze to Bobby. "So…pickin' up strays now, are we Singer?"

"Ain't any business of yours if I am," Bobby grumbled in response. "His name's Samuel Dawson…he's a kid that me 'n Dean saved from that demon he told ya about." The bearded man called attention to the dark ring of bruises peeking out from Sam's hoodie to bolster the lie, having had him purposely lower the garment before coming into the house to ensure that the marks were visible. "Found that Hell-bitch chokin' the life outta the poor boy when we came in…he woulda been a goner if not for Dean incapacitatin' the demon while I read the exorcism."

"Well…good work, then," Gordon commented disinterestedly. "But ya mind tellin' me why he tagged along with ya?"

"'Cause he had nowhere else to go." This time it was Dean who answered, with what outwardly looked like a supportive hand on Sam's shoulder, but in reality was a reminder. _Stay down, kid…let us do the talking. _"And as much as it sucks, he knows the truth now…about what's out there. But unlike most people, Sam here's takin' it by the horns…he wants to learn a few things about hunting."

"Well I guess that explains it, then." Gordon elaborated at the two other hunters' clueless looks. "I'd been hearin' through the hunters' grapevine that you've been seen around with a new partner in tow…guess this kid's the culprit, eh?" He moved his eyes to Sam, raking them over the young man from head to foot. "So the pup wants to start playin' with the big dogs…cute. I mean, damn," he joked to Dean and Bobby, "he even_ looks_ like a pup…those big dewy eyes and all that hair." The dark-skinned hunter smirked cruelly. "He's gonna attract all the nasties out there like flies to honey…he practically screams easy pickings despite his size. Would make damn good_ bait_, ya know?"

Bobby's expression grew thunderous. "Now you wait just a minute you—"

"Kidding," Gordon placated…if only just to shut Bobby up. "Kidding, man."

"You'd better be," Dean couldn't help but snarl under his breath, his grip reflexively and protectively tightening on Sam's shoulder. He felt like kicking himself though when he saw Gordon frown in surprise upon overhearing the words…he had let his heart rule his head for a split second. And it was about to backfire.

"What was that, Dean?" the hunter inquired, pinning his younger companion with a disapproving stare. "I'm pretty sure I heard what I heard, but damn…here I thought _I_ was your friend." He shook his head. "You really seem to've taken a shine to that kid in the little while he's been with ya…I mean, bringin' 'im here is one thing, but the fact that you actually dragged him along on hunts already?" Dark orbs shifted to Sam. "Really thought that you were above fallin' for a pair of big shiny eyes…especially when they don't even belong to a woman. That said…should me 'n Singer leave the two of ya alone?"

Dean chuffed. "Get real, Gordon…I like the kid, okay? Definitely not like _that_…but yeah. He's cool, okay? And don't worry; he won't be goin' on hunts with the two of us….just me 'n Bobby. We're the ones that've taken him on…you don't have to have a thing to do with him."

A sly look flashed across Gordon's face. "Oh…I don't know, Dean…I actually think helpin' to train some new blood would be good for me, and ultimately good for the kid, too. For one thing…I could teach him how to talk."

"I can talk just fine, thank you," Sam spoke up, level stare fixed on Gordon. "But it helps when people talk _to_ me first instead of just _about_ me."

The older man smiled condescendingly at Sam. "Huh…the kid has a backbone after all. So, Sammy…let's talk, then. Where ya from?"

"Texas. And it's _Sam_," came the withering response.

Gordon nodded. "I see. Word has it that you wanna learn how to hunt…how've your couple of experiences been so far…think you've got it in your blood? Think you can handle the intensity…that you can kill what needs to be killed even as it looks you in the eye? Even when…it's human?" He finally lowered himself back into the armchair, keeping the young man in his line of vision. "For example…we've got a pending mission involvin' a psychic kid, real son of a bitch. Thing is…he looks like just a kid, still. A kid like you. BUT, the more _important_ thing is…he's really a killer. A soulless, spineless Hell spawn. A _freak_…and he needs to die."

Sam's heart began to pound against his ribs even as he kept his expression blank. _Oh God, he's talking about me… _The young psychic was unable to prevent a noisy swallow, but otherwise remained stoic as Gordon went on. "Sucks to be him, then," he commented dryly.

"Sucks to be a hunter, too, kid…it ain't an easy ride, this life. But you do what you've gotta do…that's the price you pay. Take it from me…I was only eighteen years old when I had to gank my own sister."

"What?" Sam's mouth fell open in shock. "Why…why would you do that, don't you—"

"Because I had to, kid." Gordon's stare was impassive. "It wasn't my sister anymore…it was a vampire. She was turned…and I took the head right off the Fang that did it. But I had to do the same with my sister…she was no different from _them _anymore."

"Did you even try talking to her?" Sam voiced incredulously. "I mean…she was family…wouldn't you have tried to do something before going to the last resort? Maybe she wasn't—"

"Evil, kid?" Gordon scoffed. "Trust me…she was. All supernatural things are…nothin' but monsters. This ain't Casper or _Twilight_ or 'Teen Wolf', Sammy…this is real life. Good monsters only exist in fantasies and fairy tales…just like happily-ever-afters." The hunter then shot a pointed look at Bobby. "And besides…if you think I'm such a bastard for killin' someone I loved like that, why don't ya ask my predecessor over there all about it."

"You son of a bitch," Bobby furiously hissed. "You're about the ten seconds it would take me to get my gun from gettin' a load of buckshot up your sorry ass!"

"Chill, chill," Gordon held his hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry. You're right…we should let bygones be bygones, here. Focus on the here and now…and our next hunt."

"Which is…?" Dean queried warily, now himself disgusted with Gordon's words to Sam and Bobby, his grip on the younger man's shoulder unconsciously strengthening almost to the point of bruising…not that Sam seemed to mind.

"Eastern Wisconsin," Gordon answered. "A slew of demonic omens popped up two days ago. Intense ones, too…looks like this one's nasty. Now it could be either a demon or our psychic kid, but either way…whatever the hell it is dies within the week. But we need all the manpower we can get on this one, and all my buddies are out on other hunts except for you, Dean…you in?"

"Do I have a choice?" Dean muttered sarcastically, causing Gordon to once again frown in surprise.

"Hmm…not quite the enthusiastic answer I was expecting, but it'll have to do. Singer…Sam? How 'bout you two?"

"_Sam_?" Dean beat both men to the punch. "Are you freakin' kiddin' me, Gordon…he's not ready for this! For…for a demon!"

"And why not?" Gordon instantly challenged. "He's taken on a witch, a poltergeist, and a vengeful spirit, hasn't he? And it he seems to be still in one piece, so…I don't see what the big deal is, here."

"The big deal is that this hunt is gonna be _dangerous_," Bobby answered for Dean. "And not the everyday type of hunting danger that a standard spirit an' amateur hour with a damn teenager dabblin' in the black arts while wearin' pink nail polish bring…this is the big leagues, the kid could get killed! He just ain't experienced enough yet…not for this."

"Listen, old man," Gordon rose from his seat again, voice taking on a dark tone. "Dean is my hunting partner on the big hunts…_mine_, and if baby boy over there's gonna be followin' him around like a lost puppy then he's damn well gonna be pullin' some weight right along with the rest of us. You're already goin' about training the kid all wrong…you don't coddle in this life. You order, you drill…and you don't go easy 'cause there ain't nothin' easy about what the kid's gettin' himself into."

"Well maybe that's your way, Walker…but that ain't mine. This house, however, _is_…and if you don't like the way things are runnin' then you can just _get the hell out_!"

Gordon snorted at Bobby's stern words, and then shook his head sadly. "Well shit…you two've become veritable guard dogs with this pup. Kinda almost makes me think," dark eyes locked with Sam's in a suspicious glare, "…that you're hiding something."

Dean didn't hesitate to reply, despite feeling his blood freeze at the words. "Oh, right, I forgot…you're still waiting for us to come outta the closet or what-the-hell-ever, right?" he quipped sarcastically. "Well, keep waiting for that and _back the hell off_…we're clean and so is the kid."

"Well then prove it," Gordon dared. "If that's the case...let him come on the hunt. Let 'im show his stuff."

"Guys…"

"He doesn't _have_ the stuff for a demon yet, Walker, especially not one as powerful as this one sounds!"

"Guys."

"Well the only way I'm gonna have him around Dean and I without wanting to put a bullet right his between his eyes for fear that he's more than he seems, is if I see him in action on a hunt, takin' down monsters instead of siding with 'em and—"

"_GUYS_!" Sam's bellow snapped three hot heads to attention. "Call me crazy…but maybe _I_ should have some say in this?"

"You've got a point, kid." Gordon was the first to speak after a moment. "The final decision _should_ be yours…and I'll be waitin' for it." The dark-skinned man snatched up his car keys and stalked toward the door, throwing some last parting words over his shoulder. "I'm headed to a motel somewhere nearby…obviously I'm not too welcome here, bein' that there's a new kid in town. One which I'll be gettin' back to in a couple days, to see what decision he's made." The hunter looked at the young psychic with a disconcerting twinkle in his eye. "So choose wisely, Sammy-boy…I know where to find ya. And if I don't find ya here, well then…I may just start to suspect something." A shiver slid up Sam's spine at the wink Gordon then gave him, before giving a casual wave to all three of them. "Later, fellas."

The door slammed shut, and Sam finally let out the long, shuddering breath he'd been inadvertently holding in. "Shit…"

"Sam," Dean softly called as he made his way over to the now lightly trembling boy. "Sammy, hey…you're okay. He's gone…stupid son of a bitch."

"Dean…" Sam turned to him, eyes resolute. "I have to do this hunt."

"What? Sam…"

"No, Dean…I have to. This Gordon guy was your friend long before I was…and I don't wanna be trouble for you. I have to prove myself, once and for all…to both him _and_ you."

Dean swallowed a lump of guilt at the statement, knowing that he indeed still did have the slightest inklings of lingering trust issues with the powerful psychic, his hope that they were simply no longer noticeable now dashed. "Sam…look, kid…you don't need to do this, okay? You're already gettin' too stuck in the crap that I have to stand in and I…I don't know…I like bein' around you, but…" The young hunter shook his head and finally just cut to the chase, locking eyes with Sam. "I don't want you gettin' involved with Gordon, okay?"

"But _you_ are, why—"

"I know, kid, I know…and it was a mistake." Dean saw both Sam and Bobby's brows rise at his candid admission but pressed on. "I'm…I guess I'm only just now startin' to realize that, but…it doesn't change the fact. The guy came into my life at the worst possible time…right after my dad died, and I was a mess…knowin' he went to Hell for me…" Dean blinked back tears at the horrible memories. "I needed somethin' to throw myself into, and someone to latch onto, to take my mind off the pain. Well that something turned out to be hunting…and that someone turned out to be Gordon. He was fanatical, he was ruthless…and he was just what I was lookin' for at that time. I ignored my better instincts…and now I'm too deep in the hole he helped me dig to get back out." Earnest emerald eyes met Sam's sensitive blue-greens. "I don't want the same thing to happen to you."

"Dean…I—"

"And besides…you're a psychic. You've got supernatural powers out the wazoo, and if Gordon gets wind of that…he won't stop at anything to kill you. I suppose you know he was talkin' about you when he mentioned the pending hunt, the kid he's so gung-ho about ganking…and if you go hunting this demon with us? Somethin's bound to slip."

"And if I don't…Gordon's gonna know for sure something's up with me," Sam countered softly. "He'd hunt me down anyway."

Dean's eyes flashed. "He wouldn't touch you…we'd protect you."

"And then we'd _all_ be on his bad side. Dean…look, I appreciate all your concern, I do, but…I just don't think there's any other way around this. I'll be careful, I swear…I won't give him any reason to suspect anything," Sam promised sincerely.

Dean let out a long sigh, warring with himself over what to do. A part of him wanted Sam to run far, far away from the threat that Gordon posed…but the more selfish side of him wanted the kid to stay. Especially after the words that Teresa Nichols had told him at the hospital. Though he had discounted her the whole time he was there, he had gotten to thinking after leaving…and he too had ultimately realized that the strange coincidences of Nebraska, the two dates exactly six months apart in 1983, and the resemblance of Sam to what Teresa had claimed the baby looked like were too much to simply ignore. But more than that…Dean remembered what Azazel had said years ago, in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Actually, it had been in an area just outside of Jefferson, Missouri…and it was an encounter Dean would never forget. It was where John Winchester and his son had both fallen victim to Azazel, trapped with no way out as Yellow Eyes, inside a middle-aged lawyer's body, had his way with them. The demon's grand finale had been his attempt to kill Dean, pinning him to the wall and ripping him apart from the inside as John was forced to watch helplessly, pinned against the opposite wall…but before that, Azazel had interrogated his father, saying some very peculiar things that all added up to Dean suspecting that the man was apparently keeping one hell of a big secret from him. The words, even to this day, still rang in his ears.

"_So, Johnny-boy…talked to the kid lately?"_

"_What kid…I have no idea what you're—"_

"_Oh, but you _do_…lie all you want but you do. Lying is what you do best, after all…isn't it?"_

"_Look who's talking…aren't you demon sons of bitches known for that very thing?"_

"_Oh, we are…I'll give you that. But sometimes we tell the truth…especially when it hurts and messes with your head. This would be one of those times, Johnny-boy. So I'll ask you _again_…have you checked up on your son, lately?"_

"_My son is right here, in case you haven't noticed."_

"_Oh, of course, of course…so that's it then. You really just don't care, do you?"_

"_I love my son more than life itself, you--"_

"_Aw…I feel _so_ moved. But not as moved as I feel every time I look in on your sweet little boy…he's gonna make me one _Hell_ of a soldier one day. Pun intended."_

"_And speakin' of Hell, that won't happen…not when I send you there first."_

"_Yeah, yeah, heard it all before…but tell me this, Johnny. Are you gonna let him back in after that…? Wait, don't answer. I already know you won't."_

"_You don't know _anything_, you—" _

"_It's gone on too long, Pops…hasn't it? When you made that decision, it was your final answer…evident every time you secretly tracked down where the kid was, who he was with…and then made sure to stay the hell away from those places and people. And you know, I don't blame ya for it, my friend…in that case, ya did the right thing, for both you and Deanie Dearest over there. But then…chasing after me all this time, when that should've been it? When you should've let it all go the minute you let _him_ go...? Wrong. Move."_

Azazel's last two words had often haunted Dean's dreams at night, as that was when the Demon had proceeded to tearing into him in emphasis of the words, but now…it was Yellow Eyes' _other_ statements that were haunting him. Dean had always assumed Azazel was talking about him, despite most of the words completely not fitting…because after all, Dean was his only son, right? But now…the last surviving Winchester wasn't so sure. _Was _he really the last surviving Winchester…or could the big secret have been that Dean had a brother all along?

He'd wanted to ask his father what Azazel had been talking about, but after the Demon's assault on him, things had been a blur. John mustering up enough strength to extract the Colt from his pocket and fire a wild, desperate shot, hitting the Demon in the leg and while unfortunately not killing him, at least being enough to make him vacate his human host…being bundled into the Impala by the older man's frantic hands, a rough voice choked with tears begging him to hold on…the deafening sounds of crushed metal and shattered glass, darkness closing in around him…and finally waking up to find out that his father would never be waking up again. _I_ _never got the chance to ask, damn it…_

Scrubbing a callused hand down his face, Dean finally turned back to Sam…he just couldn't let the kid go. "Okay…okay, dude. You win. But first? We've gotta make sure you're back to basics."

"What do you mean?" the young psychic queried, heart rate finally slowing and his trembles already dissipated.

Bobby stepped in, placing a supportive hand on Sam's shoulder and grinning. "He means you're about to get a refresher course in hunting demons, son…_the old fashioned way_."

TBC…

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: Yep, he's baaaaack…and still as bad as ever, clearly! LOL. But it looks like not even Gordon's chilly presence is clouding or diminishing all those protective and warm feelings that Dean has more and more of towards Sam as time goes on…and they seem to be getting less and less inexplicable! The picture is slowly but surely becoming ever clearer for Dean, Sam, and Bobby, but the now the big question is…can they continue to keep Gordon in the dark?

Keep reading to find out…and I'm curious to know, how many of you got update alerts for the last chapter? I updated that Monday afternoon as promised, but I was made aware that a couple of you never got alerts…and I myself had an issue with reviews similarly not being sent to my email, even though they showed up on the main review page. Weird…and there's actually still a little of that going on today, though I finally got the bulk of the reviews this morning around 5AM! Hopefully it's mostly fixed, but just in case, if you depend on these alerts and ever don't get one on a day that you know is an update day for this story? Do try checking the main fic page instead, and blame the site! LOL.

Much gratitude as always to my LLS for the beta and to my readers and reviewers…you guys all rock and I'm so glad you think my story so far does too! Next update will be Friday, and again…hopefully you get an alert for it! LOL. ;-)


	10. Chapter 10

DISCLAIMER: Alas, my aforementioned hostile takeover of Kripke's on-set office was going according to plan…until I discovered that he had Hellhounds guarding the place and immediately aborted mission! I always knew that man was evil…wouldn't Harley and Sadie and Icarus have made good enough guard dogs?

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Bless the Broken Road**

PREVIOUSLY: _Bobby stepped in, placing a supportive hand on Sam's shoulder and grinning. "He means you're about to get a refresher course in hunting demons, son…_the old fashioned way_."_

**Chapter 10**

As it turned out, Sam thankfully hadn't forgotten too many of the common hunter's demon-busting fundamentals…_hardly_ _any_, as a matter of fact. Verbal exorcisms – from the more complicated ones down to the ubiquitous Rituale Romanum – were permanently etched into his mind, his memory like a steel trap of essential hunting knowledge and demonology. Pastor Jim Murphy had taught him well, and if Sam concentrated hard enough he could sometimes almost hear the man's gentle voice coaxing him on, praising him in times of success and joy and encouraging him in times of failure and despair. He deeply missed his mentor and guardian, and he certainly missed his beloved Jessica just as much, but it eased a fraction of the pain to know that they had been avenged…that the creature responsible for their deaths had died at the hands of one Dean Winchester.

And that very man himself was the other reason Sam was finding it easier to get up in the morning. Hunting solo had been, as expected, a very lonely existence, and there were times when Sam questioned what the point of any of it was, times when he just felt like giving up altogether…especially after those heartrending instances where he failed to save another victim. But Pastor Jim had stressed to him in his lessons of faith and good works that each life was precious, and every time he felt like ending his own, Sam would recall those words and remind himself that there were people out there depending on him, on what he could do…even though he knew he wasn't the only one bearing that cross. Sam had known of the existence of hunters from an early age, had even met a few as they passed through Jim's place, and was grateful for what they did.

But as soon as his psychic abilities had begun to develop, Sam knew that he had to stay away from that crowd, knew that he was different, odd…maybe even _wrong_. Hunt-worthy. And he had at first hated his powers because of that, had thought them to be a curse…but as time went on, he realized that maybe they were also a blessing. They had helped to save many innocent lives, after all…but he still knew no hunter would see it that way.

Or rather, that was what he'd _thought_…until he met Dean and Bobby. He would of course never forget how it felt having that gun pointed at his chest, hearing it going off and bracing himself for death, but after getting to really know the two hunters, he had most certainly forgiven them. Just as Sam did in comparison to the other kids like him – all with murderous histories except for him and Andy Gallagher – Dean and Bobby went against the grain, actually willing to see things in shades of grey rather than concrete black and white. Willing to let Sam live, despite what they had read about him, and despite his unnatural methods of exorcism they had seen with their own eyes. They had let him tell his story, and then they had let him into their lives…and for that Sam couldn't be more thankful. His life was no longer an empty void of isolation…he had friends now. He maybe even had…_family_. And quite literally so, if the hunches of the nurse back in Kansas were anything to go by.

If that was indeed the case though, however they'd find out for sure…Sam knew one final confession was in order. He had poured out nearly all important aspects and events of his life to the hunters, yes, but at the end the day was fully aware that he hadn't come completely clean…there was still one dark blot that stained his memories, his _soul_. A _very_ dark blot, and just the mere thought of spilling the beans about it to Dean and Bobby made his heart and breath stutter in raw fear. Not to mention the memory itself…

_"Recognize the place, Sammy-boy? Nah…of course ya don't. You were...a little_ young _to remember it, don't ya think?"_

_"Is that…is that me?"_

_"Cute little thing, weren't ya. Yep…that's you, kiddo. And the guy standing above your crib…well…that's me. Handsome meat-suit, that one…tall, dark, and deadly. I mean, just look at the presence that shell had."_

_"What the hell are you doing…? What...no…"_

_"Oh YES, Sammy-boy…better than mother's milk."_

_"Does this…does this mean I've got demon blood in me?! ANSWER ME!"_

But the Yellow-Eyed Demon had only chuckled wickedly at Sam's demand as he showed him the long-ago past – a slideshow that had included footage of the creature dribbling crimson into his tiny mouth from a self-inflicted cut to the host's arm, along with an all-too brief glimpse of Sam's real mother…a beautiful blonde woman in a white nightgown. There had been concern on her gentle features as she had hurried into the room at the sound of her baby's distress, at first mistaking the man looming over her child to be her husband, who was apparently named John – _the same name as Dean's father_, he'd learned – but within seconds she'd obviously recognized who really stood before her.

_"It's you."_

Whether she had been talking about the Demon's human host or Azazel himself, Sam hadn't been able to decipher, but either way, those had been his birth mother's last words, as an unseen force then proceeded to slide her off the ground, up the wall, and ultimately onto the ceiling…just like it had been with Pastor Jim and Jessica. The woman's screams had resounded in his ears before the Demon, proclaiming that what happened next was nothing Sam needed to see, yanked him out of the tragic past and back to the present, equally dismal reality of Cold Oak. That dark night, Sam had learned something that Dean and Bobby still didn't know, and possibly would _never_ know if he could keep it that way…that the blood of a demon apparently ran through his veins, and that he'd actually had _four_ deaths by ceiling fire occur around him – possibly even _because_ of him – rather than just three. And if Dean was indeed unknowingly his brother…

Then Sam had been unwittingly responsible for the death of their mother, and for every tragedy in Dean's life that had happened since, stemming from the one…the thought of which made him nauseous and deathly afraid to own up to his final secret. _God, Dean would hate me if he knew, he'd—"_

"Hey, Sammy!"

"Huh…what?" the young man slurred, shaking himself out of his thoughts to find Dean approaching him at a leisurely pace.

"You were a million miles away again, dude…what's up?"

"Huh…nothing." Sam absently answered. "I'm here, m'ready."

"Uh-huh," Dean drawled disbelievingly. "Now I _know_ you were a million miles away…you didn't even correct your name."

"Oh, uh…oh well."

The older man shook his head. "Oh well? Sam…come on, what's goin' on with you?"

"Nothing, okay?! I guess…I guess I'm just nervous about the demon hunt," Sam said, softening his tone with an apologetic glance at Dean for snapping at him.

"Well," Dean suggested hopefully, "you could always just not go, then."

"No," Sam immediately opposed. "No…like I keep sayin', I have to. Gordon'll kill me if I don't."

"Sammy—"

"_Dean_…you know he will. He already doesn't like me too much, and if I bail on this hunt, he'll think something's wrong."

"And if you _go_ on this hunt and your powers get off their leash, he'll _know_ something's wrong!" Dean winced at the brief flash of hurt that passed across Sam's emotive features at the last word and backtracked slightly. "Not that there's anything wrong with you, Sam. You save people, kid…and if Gordon can't see that, then _he's_ the one in the wrong."

"Yeah," Sam swallowed thickly. _Yeah…I save people, from demons. With my friggin' demon-blood-borne powers…makes perfect sense. _He kept that thought to himself, though. "Look, Dean, I know it's a risk, that something might happen on this hunt…but at least it's _just_ a risk. If I don't do it, Gordon coming after me is a sure thing. I mean, the look in his eyes when he told me that…" Sam tugged a hand through his unkempt hair to still any shaking before it could start. "And I know you want to, but…you can't be there to protect me all the time. And you shouldn't have to anyway…I can take care of myself. I don't wanna get you caught up in my mess."

"Are you kiddin' me, kid?" Dean scoffed, glaring into the boy's soulful blue-green eyes. "If anything, it's me who pulled you into my mess!"

"And I'm grateful for it," Sam cemented, expression never wavering. "I'm thankful that I've got someone to talk to, someone to listen to…someone who gives a damn whether I live or die…but I don't wanna be more trouble than I'm worth."

"You're not, Sam," Dean assured gently. "And hell, I'm grateful, too. I mean, yeah, I've got Bobby, but the only person I had other than him was Gordon until now, until _you_…and I've gotta be honest, man…he ain't great company. All business, no pleasure, shoot first, ask questions never…and I used to think that's what I wanted to be like, too…but now, thanks to you and Bobby…I know better. Gordon treats hunting as a war, a blood sport, not as a calling…he's not in it to save people like you and me. He's in it to kill. That's why I don't want you being around him."

"I understand, Dean, and thanks, but I keep trying to tell you—"

"I know, Sam, I get it…and that's the only reason I'm agreein' to go through with this. We do our thing, and then we get out…both of us."

"What do you mean?"

Resolution hardened Dean's face. "I mean that after this, you don't do another hunt with Gordon…and neither do I. I'm done ingestin' his poison…it's high time I weaned myself off of it. Like they say, two's company, three's a crowd…even when it comes to how many hunting partners a guy has. And my two choices from here on out are you and Bobby, 'cause Gordon's the odd man out between the four of us, kid. Not you…powers or no."

"Good to hear," a gruff voice cut in as Sam's eyes threatened to well with tears, his heart truly touched by Dean's words and effort. "'Cause I like _this_ here new huntin' partner of yours loads better than I ever liked that bastard," Bobby grinned with a friendly clap on Sam's back as he joined his younger companions. "And speakin' of the job…time for your next lesson, kiddo. Gotta test your artistic levels."

"Devil's trap drawing," Dean guessed with a knowing smile.

"You got it."

"Awesome." The green-eyed hunter stood up from his perch on top of a rusted car hood, surprising himself by reaching out to give Sam's hair an affectionate ruffle…which then prompted him to clear his throat in distraction from the unforeseen chick-flick moment. "Well I'm starvin', gonna head on in to grab some grub."

"You're always starvin'," Bobby groaned with a roll of his eyes.

"I'm a big boy," Dean tossed back over his shoulder as he strolled towards the back door of the house. "And I've got a girl in every port to back me up on that fact."

"Over-sharing!"

"But still true!"

Bobby shook his head after hearing the door slam shut. "Idjit." He turned to Sam, handing him a piece of chalk. "So…ready kid? All you've gotta do is get a standard devil's trap drawn in under a minute, and then we'll move on to more advanced versions like the Key of Solomon…though of course I'll give ya a bit more time on those."

"Sure, sounds good." Sam accepted. "Where do you want me to draw them?"

"Follow me…got a nice secure room down in the basement, plenty of floor space," Bobby answered as he began to lead the way back to the house and down a flight of stairs with Sam on his heels, finally stopping at large steel door. "I call this my panic room – completely demon-proofed in every way possible. Nothin' can get in here 'cept for anybody who knows the combination." Bobby turned the dials with ease, providing access within seconds.

"Wow," Sam breathed as he stepped into the large, open space. "Pretty neat…how long's it been here?"

"Nigh on over twenty years, kid," Bobby replied as he cleared a space on the floor for Sam to do his work. "Got it set up real soon after I fell into this life…better safe than sorry, ya know?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I know…and I know it sounds backwards, but that's kinda my reasoning for goin' on this hunt. Once I get it over with, maybe Gordon'll take me off his radar and…accept me more. Not that it'll matter though, I guess…Dean said he was gonna cut his ties with Gordon after this for my sake." Sighing, Sam met Bobby's eyes. "It kinda makes me feel guilty."

"Trust me, kid," Bobby shook his head, "you've got nothin' to feel guilty about in that respect…hell, you're not doin' Dean a disservice, you're doin' 'im a freakin' _favor_…very possibly savin' his life. Gordon's bad news with a capital B-A-D…always has been. I never liked 'im from the second I met 'im back shortly after Dean lost his father. He's a hunter for all the wrong reasons, and damn if he didn't constantly try to force those reasons on Dean when he was at his most susceptible. And a lot of times Dean did take the bait, with bells on…but there'd always been nearly just as many times when the real him would come shinin' through, when he'd tell me he wanted out of the pit of darkness Gordon had him in." Bobby pulled up a seat and took it before turning his gaze back to Sam. "Hell, it's almost like there were two sides of 'im, neither one ultimately more dominant than the other…till he met you. Sam…I think you finally freed him, kid, and if that don't make ya A-OK in my book, I don't know what does."

A slight blush overcame Sam's cheeks, and the younger man cleared his throat. "Um…good. I'm, uh, glad I could help, 'cause Dean doesn't deserve to be stuck with someone like Gordon but…I'm not sure I'm much better."

"And why do ya say that, boy…because of your powers?" Bobby questioned knowingly, taking Sam's following silence as a yes. "Kid…from what I saw, you were usin' those powers to save people, not harm 'em…and that makes all the difference as far as I'm concerned."

"But they've killed people, Bobby!" Sam blurted unexpectedly. "When I got the demons out of them, some of them died from it…I didn't mean to but maybe I pulled too hard, or—"

"Or…the hosts were already dead," the older man submitted. "That's what happens most of the time with a demon, son…they ride their hosts so hard that the only thing keepin' 'em goin' _is_ the demon inside of 'em. Me 'n Dean had a case like that – girl named Meg Masters, was possessed by an especially nasty hell-bitch. When we exorcised her, she was already a goner…she thanked us anyway, though. 'Cause she knew as well as Dean and I did…death was the only peace she was ever gonna have in the aftermath of that possession. Better to die clean than to live fifty more years with that demon inside of her, makin' her do horrible things…and I'm sure it was the same with the people that you've lost. It was the _demons_ that likely killed 'em, Sam…not you. You only released 'em from a fate _worse_ than death."

"I guess," Sam finally conceded after a long moment of silence. "But sometimes I still feel…I dunno, like…still responsible, I guess. For Pastor Jim…for my girlfriend Jess…"

Bobby let out a sigh. "Kid…did you kill 'em? Did you raise your hand and slide 'em up on the ceiling and burn 'em…or did the Yellow-Eyed Demon do that?"

"The Demon did, but still I—"

"Trust me, kid…you didn't kill 'em. I had to give Dean this exact same speech concernin' his dad, ya know, but it's the truth. 'Cause if there's anyone who knows how you two feel, it's me…but the big difference between you 'n me is that I can't say I never had a hand in any of my own personal loss…'cause I actually had the last hand…I actually did it."

"What? What are you talkin' about, Bobby…did what?"

"I killed her, just like Gordon was alludin' to…I killed my own wife. My possessed wife."

"Oh God…" Sam gasped, sorrow leaping into his gaze. "Bobby I'm—"

"Save it, kid," the elder man cut off. "What's done is done…ain't no goin' back. Like I told ya, s'better to die than live with a demon inside ya. I've made my peace with it. 'Cause I _tried_ to save her, I gave it my damnedest, but…I didn't know what the hell was goin' on back then. Why the hell my wife all of a sudden had pure black eyes and was tryin' to kill me…that was back before I knew anythin' about the supernatural. But anyway me 'n her ended up fightin'…and I did what I had to do to defend myself. I only wanted to incapacitate her, but…the fight eventually got too rough...and I had no choice in the end. Guess that makes me no better than Gordon an' what he did to his sister, but…that's the way it went."

"You're wrong, Bobby." Sam blinked back tears at the anguish and guilt he could still see lingering in his older newfound friend's eyes. "You're nothing like Gordon…he didn't give his sister a chance. With your wife…you did. You said it yourself, you tried to save her...and that makes all the difference, as far as I'm concerned."

Incredibly touched by the way Sam sincerely turned his own words back on him, Bobby finally nodded after a few seconds of contemplation. "Thanks, kid." His lips quirked in a small smile. "But now I guess we'd better quit with the Hallmark moments and get down to business, eh?"

Sam grinned back. "I guess so." The young psychic positioned the chalk between his fingers and touched the tip to the floor, ready to begin drawing. "Tell me when."

"Alright." Bobby set his stopwatch. "On your mark, get set…go!" The hunter watched in satisfaction and approval as his pupil immediately set to work, lines smooth and solid and movements fluid, graceful, and sure…it was obvious that the boy still knew what he was doing. A mere forty-two seconds saw the completion of a medium-scale standard devil's trap that stood up to Bobby's final inspection easily. "Nice work, kid."

Sam beamed up at him, dimples sinking deeply into his pink cheeks. "Thanks…what's the next one?"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Silverware scraped against plates and contented mouths chewed as the last of Bobby's specially-prepared dinner was eagerly wolfed down…mostly by Dean, unsurprisingly. The eldest hunter had cooked up a large casserole in celebration of Sam's successful three-day reinitiating into the world of traditional demon-hunting – he had passed every test thrown at him with flying colors, and the two older men felt that the youngest was officially ready for the task ahead, even though they were naturally still reluctant to put him in such danger. Neither the demon _nor_ Gordon was desirable company, the way they saw it.

But, Sam had indeed proven himself in all manners, and they weren't about to let all that hard work and determination go to waste merely for the assuaging of their own anxieties…at the end of the day, Sam was a grown man and not theirs to control, and they would respect that…

While still keeping as a close an eye on the kid as possible, of course.

"Damn," Dean moaned after a loud belch, at which Bobby had rolled his eyes. "This was awesome…ya know, Bobby, if you weren't already a hunter, you could be the next Emeril Lagasse or somethin'…BAM!" Dean smirked.

Sam raised a curious brow. "Emeril Lagasse?"

"Yeah," Dean answered in a flippant tone. "I mean, come on…for Bobby that's _way_ better than The Naked Chef, anyway!" He gave an exaggerated shudder as he looked mockingly at the bearded hunter, who scowled back.

"I'll give that to you," Sam agreed, cracking a smile. "But just…dude, you watch The Food Network?"

"He damn sure does," Bobby cut in before Dean could respond. "He also watches _Oprah_ on occasion."

Dean's mouth dropped open incredulously. "What? I…_I do not_!"

Bobby snorted at the lame denial, winking at Sam. "Methinks the idjit doth protest too much, eh kid?" Sam's giggles in response to the good-natured taunt were soon interrupted though by a persistent knocking on Bobby's door over top of the loud barking of his old Rottweiler, Rumsfeld. "Shit…better see who it is before Rummy makes sure there's nothin' left of 'em…"

Bobby's voice trailed off as its owner hurried down the hallway to the front entrance, briefly rising once more for a forceful "Git down, Rummy!" before falling into a lower, more conversational tone as Sam and Dean listened on.

"Not Gordon, I'd say…" the latter man commented. "If it was, there'd be a lot more yellin' goin' on, I'm pretty sure."

Sam nodded. "Doesn't sound like it's somebody Bobby knows real well, either…if Rummy goin' so crazy's anything to go by." The elderly canine was definitely a force to be reckoned with; the young psychic knew this much from experience upon his first meeting with the animal. But after a stern talking to from Bobby, man to mutt, and a few tentative strokes of his ears from Sam, Rumsfeld had warmed to him and now even sought him out, knowing that Sam would oblige his requests for another good ear-scratching every time, like the sucker for animals he had always been. The dog was a smart one.

"You're probably right there," Dean concurred. "Can ya make out anything bein' said?"

"Could've sworn I heard someone say 'sign here, please'…maybe Bobby's got some mail?"

"Maybe," Dean mused. "_Late _mail, too…I guess we'll just have wait and see till he gets back, though."

And no sooner had Dean spoken those words than Bobby, hand clutching a large, standard yellow-orange mailing envelope, was making his way back to the table, an unreadable expression on his weathered face. Sam and Dean watched in curiosity as Bobby ripped open the envelope with trembling hands, quickly scanning its contents with anxious eyes…which seconds later, to their shock, filled with tears.

"Uh…what's up old man," Dean queried with a shaky grin, uncomfortable with the open display of emotion from the normally gruff hunter. "Is it a 'dear Bobby' letter…your membership to the Greta Garbo fan club expire on ya…what?" Green eyes narrowed in confusion when Bobby's quivering lips turned up into a smile as he looked between him and Sam, and Dean accordingly changed tactics, now even more uneasy. "Okay, a smile…somethin' happy, then. Got a hot date…an order form for a new hat?" No reaction. "Win the lottery?" Bobby's head finally turned to him at this, smile stretching even further.

"Damn, boys…I kinda feel like I have." He swallowed, tears thick within his voice. "It's from that nurse of yours, Dean, Teresa Nichols, so…confession time. I suspected somethin', 'bout you 'n Sam, and I had her to run a confidential DNA test on the both of ya."

Dean couldn't honestly say that he was surprised…the instant Teresa's name was brought up he had a hunch he knew where it was all going. "And…"

"And I guess it's double trouble for me, now," Bobby grinned. "'Cause Dean…you ain't the only Winchester I've got under my roof anymore." A pair of mouths fell open at the words, a set of green and another set of blue-green eyes widening simultaneously as tears began to burn behind them both. Bobby nodded, knowing that the boys had each gotten the message…but he just couldn't resist saying it out loud.

"That's right, boy," the older man confirmed, moving behind Sam and laying a hand on his shoulder with a loving squeeze. "Dean, you've already met Sam Murphy…now meet Sam Winchester, your little brother…'cause they're one in the same."

TBC…

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: And finally the cat's out of the bag! LOL. Sam and Dean are brothers, as we all knew from the beginning, but as they only just now officially found out…let the even stronger bonding begin, right? But there's still the matter of that pesky Gordon to consider, so our boys definitely aren't out of the woods yet! Far from it…and Sam's still got that one last secret…

BTW, very sorry for the hour delay in the posting of this chapter...the site is acting up yet again! It wouldn't let me upload this chapter, so after much fretting and rage I tried to find a way around it, which ended up with me copy/pasting this chapter out of Microsoft Word into one of the documents that had _already_ been uploaded (Chapter 1) and then reposting the document as the 10th chapter, LOL. Of course I had to do some major cleaning up as the spacing was all haywire, but hopefully it turned out okay. If you're reading this chapter and it looks completely normal, it did...but if you're not reading this chapter at all, or, are either reading Chapter 1 in its place or notice that Chapter 1 is now filled with the contents of Chapter 10, LOL...then I've got a problem. LOL. *kicks site*

Anyway, LOL, can't say it enough; thanks to my LLS for the beta and my readers for alerting, favoriting, and especially reviewing…it pleases me so much to see all those messages in my inbox! Next chapter will be up sometime Sunday afternoon! :-D


	11. Chapter 11

DISCLAIMER: Well, since brute force failed, I turned to stealth and made an attempt to _steal_ the rights to _Supernatural _instead. And I'd nearly gotten away scot-free when, out of nowhere, I ended up with Victor Henricksen and a whole squad of police cars on my tail! This may not end well…is that "Renegade" I suddenly hear playing?

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Bless the Broken Road**

PREVIOUSLY: _"That's right, boy," the older man confirmed, moving behind Sam and laying a hand on his shoulder with a loving squeeze. "Dean, you've already met Sam Murphy…now meet Sam Winchester, your little brother…'cause they're one in the same."_

**Chapter 11**

"_I think about the years I spent, just passing through  
I'd like to have the time I lost, and give it back to you  
But you just smile and take my hand  
You've been there, you understand  
It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true"_

Lyrics from "Bless the Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts

_My little brother…oh my God…_

Ever since learning the news, it was as though Dean expected to wake up from a dream at any second; hell, he'd even pinched himself a couple of times with that thought in mind…but that action had never garnered any results. Because it wasn't a dream…Dean had somehow, through coincidence and luck and maybe even fate, found the long-lost sibling he'd never even known he had. He now understood things that had still been a mystery a mere week ago…things like why he was unable to shoot Sam or leave him behind in that warehouse, why he came to instantly feel so protective towards the kid from nearly the beginning, why it had felt so inexplicably natural to hold that six-foot-four frame in his arms…why everything Sam did and said somehow got to him on a such a primal level, beyond that of any mere friendship. It all made sense now.

Because Sam wasn't just a friend…he was family all along. _Family…_

But the thought of that word now also left a somewhat bitter taste in his mouth, concerning a man he had trusted all his life and once thought he knew – his father. John Winchester had taken the secret of Sam to the grave, and there it would've stayed if not for the intuition of Teresa Nichols and the ingeniousness of Bobby's secret DNA test…and that fact was continuously hammering a pretty large dent in the lifelong respect Dean had for his father, the more he thought about it. It left him with the eternal question of _why_…why did his father abandon Sam? Was he doing it to keep him safe…did he simply want the hunt in the end more than he did his baby boy? Or the worst possibility of all…did John actually blame Sam for Mary Winchester's death and stop loving him…

The last possibility made anger flare up in Dean's chest, in the part of his heart that Sam's absence had unknowingly left a void in so long ago. But whatever the reason his father had done what he did, the man had outright lied both through his teeth and by omission to Dean from the time he was four years old up until his own death…had taken freakin' _advantage _of his oldest son's memory loss from the head injury he'd sustained on the night of the fire to permanently erase his baby brother from his life, as if Sam had never even existed. And worse, he had left an innocent child – who had somehow miraculously survived into adulthood – completely vulnerable to Azazel for all those years when he had to have known that Sam was one of the Demon's main targets. And though Dean _did _believe that his father may have discreetly checked up on Sam every now and then, that kind of long-distance protection just ultimately didn't cut it with the newly-dubbed elder brother…not in the least. And especially not looking at the kid before him now…

Dean couldn't help but smile as Sam's infectious laughter echoed throughout Bobby's salvage yard. The younger man – _his little brother_ – was currently involved in a friendly match of tug-of-war with Rumsfeld over an old piece of rubber tire the dog had found lying around, and it was hard to tell who was winning. On occasion, Sam would finally triumph in dislodging the rubber scrap from the canine's mouth, only for him to enthusiastically throw it for Rumsfeld to retrieve, starting the whole process over again. It was obvious that the dog had taken to Sam as much as Dean and Bobby had even _before_ the two hunters found out that the kid's real last name was 'Winchester'. Because no matter what their father had thought…that fact had never changed at Sam's core.

The kid had all the essential traits – a deep-seated desire to help others, a passionate, oftentimes stubborn nature governed by a kind heart, a solid loyalty to friends and loved ones….and of course, a guilt complex a mile wide; the tendency to take everything on his undeserving shoulders. But one cross Dean _especially_ hoped that Sam wasn't bearing at the moment was the death of their mother…he was sure that the kid had connected the dots by now. Mary Winchester had died on the ceiling, just like Pastor Jim and Jessica Moore had, but there had always been that question of 'why' left unanswered in Mary's case…why she had been targeted. Now Dean knew that it was because Sam had been targeted by Azazel from the get-go; their mother had likely just been an unfortunate casualty of war. However, in no way did Dean blame Sam for her death…the kid had only been six months old at the time. He'd had no defenses, and he'd had no responsibility…he was an innocent just as their mother had been. And if their father hadn't understood that and had abandoned Sam because he blamed him…

Then more was the pity for the sorry man, and wistfulness for the years lost that could've been spent with Sam at their side.

Of course, Dean at the same time realized that it wouldn't have been that simple, though. Because Sam had supernatural abilities, and son or not, that would've never sat well with the hunter side of John Winchester…the side that more often than not was the most dominant. Sam had told him and Bobby that he'd developed his powers at the age of twenty-two – or at least that's when they'd first surfaced from out of nowhere, apparently – and Dean was well aware that their father would've reacted in one of two ways to this. Option one would've involved a serious increase in the protection and monitoring of Sam. Option two…would've been to simply put a bullet in the kid's heart or head. Like Dean himself had been about to do…

_God…I nearly killed my own brother… _The mere thought of it made Dean shudder, bile threatening to rise in his tight throat…so much so that the only way to quell his raging guilt was to seek Sam out immediately, to look into those blue-green eyes and see that they were still full of life.

And it was what Dean found himself having to do right then.

"Hey…Sammy!" The dark shaggy head popped up at his call, and Dean watched, lump in his throat finally receding as Sam bounded over with a smile of contentment on his young face to where Dean sat on the porch.

"M'here, what's up?" The newfound Winchester inquired curiously. "And by the way, brother or not, it's still just '_Sam_', thanks."

Dean smirked. "Whatever, _Sammy_…you just go on thinkin' that." He scooted over, making room for the kid to sit beside him. "You had lunch yet? If not, Bobby's got some leftover stuff to make barbecue sandwiches…I left it all layin' out."

"Nah, I'm good," Sam replied. "Had some tomato soup and a grilled cheese earlier."

"Freak," Dean muttered fondly. "How any brother of mine can pick vegetables and dairy over good old rib-stickin' meat is beyond me…"

"And how any brother of mine can so blatantly ignore two of the four basic food groups is beyond _me_," Sam teased in return.

"Hey…I don't ignore 'em! What about the jelly on my toast this morning, and tater tots with ketchup yesterday? There ya go…fruit and two vegetables," Dean smiled smugly.

"Uh-huh…" Sam wasn't convinced. "By the way…a tomato is actually considered a fruit, just so you know."

"Okay, fine then…two fruits and a vegetable," Dean amended smoothly.

"You're hopeless." Sam shook his head in amusement before gradually sobering. "So…um…any long-buried memories of me come back yet?"

Dean shook his head sadly. "Afraid not…that damn head injury really screwed with my brain back then…kinda like freakin' _Dad_ did."

"Dean…" Sam placated, "I don't know. Maybe your—_our _dad had a good reason for giving me away…you never know." He pushed a loose strand of hair out of his eyes. "I mean, I…I'm different. Maybe he did it to protect me from the Demon…or to protect _you_ from…uh…"

"From what, Sam…you?"

"Well…I mean, if he knew something was wrong with me and that the Demon—"

"_Sam_," Dean reprimanded sternly. "We've been over this…there's nothing _wrong_ with you. The only one wrong in that situation was our dad, for abandoning you, whether it was out of some misguided sense of protection or not…he still left you defenseless, and he lied to me all along, so…_he_ was wrong, okay? Not you."

"But y—…_our_ mom died because—"

"Of the Demon, Sam."

"Yeah, but because the Demon was after _me_! Not Mom, not Dad, not you…me."

"Sam…" Dean scrubbed a hand through his spiky hair. "Yeah, alright, that's true…but how is that your fault? Did you ask for ol' Yellow Eyes to do all he's done to you over the years?"

"No…" Sam responded morosely, looking down at his feet. "But still…Mom, Dad, Jim, Jess, my foster parents…if it wouldn't have been for me then they'd—"

"Whoa, whoa…stop right there, kid," Dean demanded, holding his hands up. "When did we get from fun-n-games with Rummy over there to this woe-is-me _I should've never been born_ crap?" He locked eyes with Sam. "It's not your fault, man…get it past all that hair and through your thick head. I'm sure Pastor Jim and Jess aren't sittin' up there on their clouds lookin' down at you and thinkin' that. If anything, I'm pretty sure they're thinkin' of how much they loved you, and how much they still do…and our mom and your foster parents are probably thinkin' the same," Dean finished, face flushed at the sappy sentiments he'd just said aloud.

"I'm pretty sure our _dad's_ not thinkin' that though," Sam said with a somber look in his eyes. Dean scoffed.

"Yeah, well, our dad was an _ass_ when it came to you, obviously. He had no good enough reason for doin' what he did, for keepin' us from each other…and for the record?" Dean swallowed audibly. "I wish I could've found you sooner…that I could've helped you through the rough life you've had, the losses…that we could've helped _each other_. But now that you _are_ here…I'm glad you are. No matter _how _much baggage you come with."

"Thanks," Sam was finally able to choke out after several seconds of touched silence. _But you wouldn't keep feeling that way if you only knew… _The thought made Sam's heart ache, but it was undeniable nonetheless. Dean really had no idea just what _kind_ of baggage Sam was carrying; specifically…what kind was running through his veins even as they spoke. He remembered how much relief had washed over him when Bobby told him that instead of getting his DNA from blood as they had Dean's, they'd gotten his from the saliva residue he'd left on his coffee cup. Because there was no telling what kind of secrets an analysis of Sam's blood would've revealed…sure, on the outside it appeared red just like everyone else's; he knew that much from all the injuries he'd gotten over the years. But as for its actual microscopic contents…Sam could just see the report now: one part red cells, one part white cells, one part platelets, and one part…_sulfur_? Oh yeah, they would've likely turned him into a test guinea pig faster than one could say 'freak'.

But that was only if Dean hadn't already hunted him down and killed him by then…

He gulped uncomfortably and then cleared his throat, hoping Dean hadn't noticed.

And Sam found himself having to disagree with Dean's other statement as well. He understood where his older brother – _God, it still feels weird thinking that_ – was coming from of course, but when it came down to it? The young psychic was glad that Dean hadn't been around him for all of his miserable life…because if he had, it was a good possibility that Dean wouldn't be sitting beside him at the moment, alive and kicking, and would instead be only ashes, scattered in the wind and in the remains of Sam's old residences. Just like Pastor Jim, Jessica, and his mothers – both foster and birth – were, so yeah...Sam was definitely glad Dean hadn't known him before the Yellow-Eyed Demon had been eliminated from the picture.

Not that he hadn't managed to ruin Dean's life anyway though, he noted with dismay. Sam was, naturally, immensely relieved and glad that his older sibling didn't blame him for their mother's death and the life of hunting her loss ultimately forced on him and their father, but that sure as hell didn't stop Sam from blaming _himself_ on the matter. Even though it had been the Demon to kill Mary Winchester, it was still him, _Sam_, whom the Demon had been after in the first place…as Azazel had told him, his mother had only died simply because she'd gotten in the way. After learning that little detail, Sam had been haunted since by it, often wishing that Mary hadn't tried to save him for the sake of the woman herself and the husband she'd called out to in Azazel's mental mini-movie…not to mention his future lineup of victims in Vicky Reilly, Pastor Jim, and Jess. And now there was John Winchester and Dean to add to that list…even though the latter lived and breathed right next to him.

Because unlike Sam thanks to Pastor Jim's efforts, Dean hadn't been kept away from the dark, dismal world of hunting the supernatural…he'd been thrust straight into it, and at a painfully early age to boot. And the youngest Winchester was willing to bet – even though Dean seemed to enjoy and thrive in that life as an adult – that it had been a miserable existence for a child. After all…there had to have been _some _reason why Jim had so doggedly steered Sam clear of anything and, for the most part, any_one_ having to do with it. Dean however, hadn't had that luxury, hadn't ever experienced the protection of innocence that the pastor had afforded Sam…and especially looking at Dean now, the young psychic couldn't help but mourn the carefree child that had been lost.

Or feel that the responsibility for that, in many ways, lay on his shoulders.

"You boys okay out here?"

Sam's ruminations were halted by the slam of a screen door and a gruff voice sounding from behind him, for which he was thankful. He would save the depression and self-loathing for another time…he knew it wasn't going away anytime soon, after all.

"We're cool, Bobby…just chillin' out." Dean winked at Sam. "A little brotherly bonding and all...s'good for the soul."

The older man's look was skeptical. "Thought that was chicken soup."

"Ha, now who watches _Oprah_?" Dean smirked. "Or do you just have that book stashed somewhere in that massive library of yours."

"Ha ha," Bobby dryly remarked in reply before looking to the youngest man. "You doin' alright, Sam?"

"Fine, thanks…been messin' around with Rummy for a bit," Sam answered with a small smile. "He really likes tug-of-war."

"Ol' mutt'd like just about anything you'd do to 'im, kid, I've got a feelin'." Bobby shook his head fondly. "Way he is around ya now…I dunno how he ever survived without ya."

"Well Sam has a way with animals, ya know…puppy-dog eyes," Dean quipped. "I mean, stealin' a bowl of milk from that haunted office's fridge to feed that skinny cat hangin' around the place?" He merrily ruffled Sam's chestnut mop. "Classic…that's my baby bro. Such a giving soul."

"Well…he was hungry," Sam shrugged, smoothing the displaced strands back into place.

"Yeah…well, so am I," Dean stated eagerly. "You gonna go fix me somethin' too? How 'bout it?"

Bobby snorted. "Boy, he ain't gonna fix you nothin' 'cause ya jus' ate ten minutes ago, ya bottomless pit!"

"No, I've got this one, Bobby," Sam smirked as he stood to head inside. "One bowl of milk comin' right up, big bro."

"Say _what_? Dude, no, wait—" But Sam was already through the door, teasing laughter trailing behind him. "Damn…"

"Kid's a quick wit, eh?" Bobby grinned. "'Bout time somebody came along to take ya down a notch."

"Hmph…no Sasquatch takes Dean Winchester down," Dean proclaimed with a puff of his chest.

"And no Bobby Singer lets any Dean Winchester get away with not cleanin' up his mess in the kitchen…now git to it!"

"Samantha in there can get it, like the good little homemaker he is," Dean deferred. Bobby's glare quickly made him change his mind. "Or…_not_."

"I think 'not' is a good option," Bobby approved.

"You would," Dean grumbled back as he stood. But just as his hand reached for the screen door handle, the loud rumble of an engine and the crunch of tires on dirt and gravel made him turn his head back…and he cursed at what he saw. Or more accurately…_who_ he saw.

"Damn it!" Bobby apparently had the same sentiments. "I was hopin' that asshole done found somebody _else_ to do this hunt with 'im by now…"

"Oh come on, man…you know as well as I do that Gordon's enjoyin' this…he wants Sam on this hunt because he wants to give the kid a hard time." Dean shook his head, glaring out at the approaching El Camino. "And bein' that Sam's officially my brother as well as my friend now…I'm gonna have a lot more to say about that."

"You ain't gonna tell 'im are ya?" Bobby questioned. "That Sam's your brother?"

"Hell no…as far as he knows and is _ever _gonna know, Sammy's still Sam Dawson, the kid we saved from bein' choked by a demon."

"Got ya," Bobby concurred as he watched the red-orange car roll to a halt, the engine silenced and the door squeaking open. "It's show time."

"Afternoon, fellas." Gordon Walker greeted as he moved toward Bobby's front porch at a leisurely stroll. "Takin' a break from the kid, are ya? Or did you do the smart thing for once and ditch 'im, Singer."

"He's still here," the salvage yard owner answered evenly. "Inside the house."

Gordon blew out a disapproving breath through his nose. "Figures. So, then…shall we go join 'im…discuss what's comin' within the next few hours?"

"Few hours?" Dean spoke up. "Won't it take us at least that much time to actually get to Wisconsin alone?"

"Yep," the dark-skinned hunter confirmed. "That's why we're leavin' right now; soon as you three get packed."

Bobby's eyes widened in incredulity. "Right now? Shit, Walker…thanks for the damn heads up ya so kindly gave us!"

"What's the problem, old man," Gordon sneered. "That wet-behind-the-ears Sam-pup of yours not ready for the big show?"

Dean's fists clenched reflexively at the taunt to his brother. He met the older man's condescending stare with one of his own. "Oh, Sam's ready…just waitin' on you, that's all."

"Well I'm here, now," Gordon harrumphed. "And you two mean to tell me that you've got the kid fully trained to take on demons…from victim to hunter in a less than a week?"

"What can we say," Bobby shrugged. "The boy's a fast learner…exceptional student."

"And Bobby and Dean were exceptional teachers," Sam's voice returned with the slam of the screen door. "So yeah, like they said…I'm ready when you are."

Cold, dark eyes locked with confident blue-greens as Gordon and Sam stared each other down before the former, after a few seconds, finally broke out into a sly smile. "Well then, Sammy-boy…welcome aboard. And I know, I know," Gordon cut off Sam's burgeoning retort. "It's _Sam_…right?" The boy never answered as he calmly turned on his heel and went back inside. "That's right, Sammy…you go in on and do your thing while the _adults _talk business out here," the hunter mockingly called after the retreating tall form, causing his two companions to glare. "What?"

"You sure know how to welcome a new partner to the game," Bobby replied with disdain. Gordon merely scoffed.

"That kid's no _partner_…far as I'm concerned he's nothin' but a rookie still, a liability. I don't care how much trainin' he went through _or_ how good he was at it."

"Well," Dean cut in. "I really hate to leave this alluring conversation, but…nature calls." Green eyes included both older hunters in their gaze. "Try not to kill each other while I'm gone, 'kay guys? Bad for the morale." With that, Dean stepped through the front door and headed down the hallway, passing up the bathroom and climbing the stairs. "Sam?" he called softly. "You around, kiddo?"

"In here," a subdued voice responded.

"Where's here…oh," Dean amended himself as he walked into the bedroom Sam had been using for his stay. "Never mind, then. So…you okay?"

"Fine," the younger man replied absently as he shoved clothes into his duffel. "Just packing."

"I can see that," Dean nodded. "Listen bro…I wanna make sure you understand somethin' really important before we go. While Gordon's with us, we—"

"Aren't related in any way," his sibling finished before Dean could. "I'm just Sam Dawson, former ordinary civilian recently trained to hunt demons…right?"

"Uh…right," Dean corroborated. "You're quick."

"Learned from the best."

Dean's heart filled with both love and bone-deep fear at Sam's warm words and smile…he couldn't lose this kid. He _wouldn't_. "Sammy…you stick close to me on this hunt, okay? Close to me and Bobby and preferably as far away from Gordon as you can get…I just don't trust him with you."

"I know," Sam said gently. "Hell, I don't trust him _period_. But…I _do_ trust you and Bobby. I know you won't let him hurt me…and the same goes vice-versa, too. We'll look out for each other, right?"

Dean's smile was a surprisingly genuine one in the face of Sam's faith. "S'right…long as I'm around, kid? Nothing bad is gonna happen to you."

Sam nodded, meeting his big brother's eyes with a sincere gaze. "Right back at ya."

"Cool. Well, now that that moment's over," Dean quipped with a slap to his knees, "I'm off to do some packin' myself. Don't forget to take clean underwear, little bro," he winked. "You know what they say…"

"Little bro?" Sam responded in a confused tone. "I think you've got the wrong guy…I'm an only child."

"What?" Green eyes narrowed. "No you're not…you saw the DNA test results and the birth records, remember?"

"Yeeeah…" the younger man drawled. "But I'm just plain ol' Sam Dawson now…_remember_?"

Dean's face couldn't help but break out into a proud grin at Sam's corresponding wink. "That's my boy."

TBC…

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: Yep…big brother is officially on the job now in all manners, as is little brother, heehee. Gordon really doesn't know what he's getting into, does he? But…the question remains…does Sam know what _he's_ getting into with the upcoming demon hunt? We'll find out soon, because the hunt is definitely on the very near horizon, and with Gordon involved, there's no doubt that danger is a sure thing from both sides…

Yet even more thanks to my LLS for the reliable beta work and to my readers and reviewers for keeping this story popular…I'm thrilled at the success it's had thus far; keep it all coming! Also, to **ukfan101** since I was unable to send you a review reply due to PMs being disabled – thank you for the kind words, I'm glad that you found the story too and glad you're enjoying it! Next chapter will be up Tuesday afternoon! :-D


	12. Chapter 12

DISCLAIMER: I don't own _Supernatural _or the Winchester boys. But I do own an entire stockpile of toilet paper…because when it comes to being prepared for the Apocalypse? I refuse to be caught with my pants down! So to speak…

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Bless the Broken Road**

PREVIOUSLY: _"Yeeeah…" the younger man drawled. "But I'm just plain ol' Sam Dawson now…_remember_?"_

_Dean's face couldn't help but break out into a proud grin at Sam's corresponding wink. "That's my boy."_

**Chapter 12**

"Huh. Lots of breaks in reception around these parts, I've noticed."

"You're tellin' me," Bobby answered Sam, finally flipping the Impala's radio off after a search of channels garnered nothing but static. "Not that any of the other stations came in that great, mind ya."

"That's because they were oldies country stations…static kinda goes hand-in-hand with those," the younger man smirked. "What's Dean got?"

Bobby scoffed, not even bothering to pull the older Winchester's cassette tape collection out from under the seat. "Multiple migraines in a box…you get me listenin' to most of his head-bangin' shit an' you'll have to get me some Advil before too long."

"That's okay," Sam shrugged. "Sometimes the quiet's nice for a little while."

"A boy after my own heart," Bobby grinned. "Heard ya like books real well…ya happen to get a gander at the library while you were at my place?"

Sam immediately brightened. "Oh, yes, sir…it was really amazing. If I'm ever your way again, I'd love to check it out further if you wouldn't mind."

"'Course I wouldn't…and you'll be back, don't worry. Dean's a frequent visitor; by default you'll be the same. That in mind," Bobby added, "cut it out with the pleasantries already. I sure do 'ppreciate a polite young'n, don't get me wrong, but…I'm just Bobby to you from now on, boy. Any son of John Winchester – _bastard though he was_ – is a son of mine."

Sam nodded in understanding, believing the words and remembering Bobby's outrage toward his late father upon learning that he had abandoned his youngest child. In fact, the older man had probably called John every censor-worthy name in the book before finally calming down, ending with a proclamation that he now wished he would've carried through with his long ago threat to fill the man full of buckshot when he'd had the chance. Sam decided not to question it, figuring that the words had been likely been said in defense of Dean…and speaking of his sibling…

"Damn…never thought I'd be sayin' this out loud but I feel for that brother of yours." Bobby beat him to the punch. "Havin' to be stuck in the car with that asshole, an' in _his_ car no less…"

Sam silently agreed. In order to keep the peace and throw off further suspicion on Gordon's part, Dean had chosen to ride along with the other hunter instead of with Sam and Bobby, which was the only reason that the salvage yard owner was currently behind the wheel of Dean's beloved Impala…though under threat of death should Bobby so much as put a scratch on his 'baby', naturally.

"Doin' alright, kid? Ya look a little tired."

"I guess I am…just the quiet, though…the lull of the road."

Bobby nodded. So far they had been on the road for five hours, during which he and Sam had went over everything the boy had learned, top to bottom, for Bobby's own peace of mind and Sam's safety. The matter of Gordon was also discussed, and the older man hadn't declared the topic closed until every last bit of fear was erased, assuring Sam that he would be protected…no matter what happened and no matter what had to be done. But deep down, Bobby still had his own apprehensions concerning the upcoming hunt, and he prayed to whatever higher power listening that none of his worst-case-scenarios would be realized. Because he had come to deeply care about Sam as well, even before it was discovered that he was a Winchester…and he didn't want to lose the kid anymore than Dean did. He cleared his throat of the lump that had suddenly risen in it. "Well then…you can go on and rest your eyes a bit. We've still got a ways to go."

"You're sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all. Don't want ya fallin' asleep in the middle of an exorcism, after all," Bobby winked, causing Sam to laugh softly.

"Yeah…guess you're right there. But if you start getting sleepy too, just wake me up and I'll take over…deal?"

"Fair 'nough," the elder hunter answered. "But jus' so ya know…Dean's rule 'bout scratchin' the car applies to you, too."

"I'll be extra careful," Sam promised, fighting an amused grin. He stretched his long limbs, nestling as comfortably as he could between the seat and the car's interior, a large yawn escaping his mouth. "Like I said, jus' wake me if ya need to…" the young psychic trailed off, and within minutes, had drifted to sleep.

"Rest easy, kid," Bobby bade. _'Cause times are likely gonna be hard soon enough… _The ringing of Sam's cell interrupted the morose thought, and the hunter gently but quickly extracted it from the boy's coat pocket, thankful it hadn't woke him. "Y'ello."

"_Bobby? Where's Sam?" _

"Sleepin'," the bearded man succinctly answered Dean. "Poor kid's plumb exhausted…wanted to make sure he got some shut-eye before the hunt. You doin' alright?"

"_Yeah, just, uh…talkin'."_

"Yeah…_I'll bet_," Bobby muttered under his breath.

"_Well, according to Gordon we're about five minutes from the exit we need to take now…gettin' close. You rested up enough yourself?"_

Bobby chuffed. "Well even if I ain't, what're ya gonna do, boy…come take over and leave me to take a nap in Gordon's car? 'Cause I know ya ain't gonna pair the bastard up with Sam. So in other words…yeah. I'm good."

"_Well, _both_ of you could always sleep while I drive, I'm sure—"_

"No dice, still too suspicious. If we give him an inch we—"

"Okay_, okay, Bobby…just checkin'."_

"I know ya were, kid…just a little on edge over here, s'all."

"_You and me both… Well, anyway, call me if ya need anything, see ya when we get there."_

"Back at ya." The old hunter ended the call.

Dean did the same, pocketing his phone and shooting a glance over to the silent driver. Gordon stared impassively at the road ahead. "So…are we there yet?" Dean joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Not yet." Gordon didn't take the bait. "Close, though. How are Singer and Sammy-boy holdin' up?"

"Well, first off the kid prefers to just be called Sam," Dean corrected. _And I prefer that you call him that, too… _"They're fine, though."

Predictably, Gordon showed no sign of caring either way. "Yeah…hey, speakin' of a Sam, though…were ya able to dig up anything else on our little psychic freak, Sam Murphy?"

Dean kept his expression and voice neutral. "Nope…got no more on 'im than we started out with so far."

"Well, did you even try?" Gordon heatedly challenged. "Or were you too busy with this _other_ Sam of yours."

"Yeah," Dean responded with conviction and no shame. "Yeah, I _was_ a little busy with the kid…problem with that?"

Dark eyes narrowed at Dean in a glare. "Yeah, there is, because ever since that damn pup came into your life it's like your heart's not in it anymore, Dean. The kid's been a total waste of time that you could've been spendin' doin' somethin' _important_, trackin' nasties and takin' 'em out…the concept sound familiar to you?"

"Helping that kid _is_ important to me, Gordon!" Dean snapped back. "It's not just about hunting things, it's about _saving people_…that's the reason we do what we do. And this is mine and Bobby's way of savin' that kid, of _keepin'_ him safe. It's one less victim in the world and one more hunter…so I don't know about you but I'd say that's gonna do some good in the long run."

"But not as good as findin' and killin' that Murphy kid'll do!" Gordon hissed. "I want that damn freak _dead_, sooner rather than later…and you were supposed to've been my partner on this, as devoted to seein' it through as me…so what the hell happened?"

"Nothing happened, it's—"

"No, _I'll_ tell you what happened…that damn sad-eyed, floppy-haired kid happened; he's got you and Singer wrapped around his little finger and now to hell with everyone and everything else, right?"

"Wow, dude," Dean spoke up after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. "I think your eyes are even greener than mine if you know what I mean."

"I'm_ not _jealous, Dean," Gordon intoned quietly but firmly. "I'm _disappointed_. You've changed…and not for the better. Carin' more about some stray kid than you do the hunt…it's not like you."

"Yeah, well…you gonna take the exit or just keep ranting at me?"

Tires screeched as Gordon made a sharp turn, barely missing the guardrail along the off-ramp. Dean instantly spun around in his seat, making sure that Bobby had made the turn safely as well and finding that he had. "Thank God…I meant what I said about him putting a scratch on her…"

Gordon didn't even crack a smile, glaring out the windshield once more. "We're not finished with what we were talkin' about, Dean…we do this hunt and then we pick up where we left off. _Without _that kid or Singer anywhere in sight…got me?"

"Whatever," Dean shrugged. "Far as _I'm_ concerned we're finished, though." _And I mean that in more ways than one._

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"The bastard's in there...I'll bet my weapons cache on it."

Sam and Bobby stepped out of the Impala to join Dean and Gordon, following the latter man's gaze to the large abandoned factory at the heart of Little Chute, Wisconsin. The night was cloudy but surprisingly warm for a spring month, with the hum of nearby city life filling the otherwise still air. The three men took in the way the hulking structure loomed in the darkness, high windows cracked and broken, rust coating the aluminum roof, the same color of the bricks that now crumbled in several areas. Gordon was likely right in his assumption by the looks of the building alone…

"You mean you're not one-hundred percent sure?" But still, Sam couldn't suppress his questioning nature. Gordon glowered at him for it.

"No, kid, I'm not, but it's as good a place to start as any, eh?" The dark-skinned hunter smirked condescendingly. "'Sides, it's not like _you_ would know any better—"

"Okay, okay, let's can the teenage drama for now so we can get this over with already," Dean intervened. "Bobby, Sam…you sneak around the back way in and get to drawing a devil's trap. If the demon's in there, Gordon and I will distract it up front while you two work, then after you're done, give us a signal and we'll start moving it toward that area. After we've got it trapped, Sam, you can read the exorcism while the rest of us watch your six…deal?"

"Sure," Sam answered, showing no hesitation.

Dean nodded. "Good…Bobby's gonna have some holy water on him, too. Gordon and I need the rest of it up front but…just in case, you'll have that back there. And you've got the anti-possession charm Bobby gave you, right?"

"Right here." Sam pulled on the collar of his button-down shirt to reveal a nearly invisible string tied around his neck and the tiny silver pendant that hung from it.

"Well you're all set, then," Dean approved. He handed Bobby the same serrated knife he'd wielded in the warehouse where they'd first met Sam weeks ago. "Careful, old man," the young hunter bade with a meaningful gaze into Bobby's faded blue eyes.

The salvage yard owner nodded, reading the look as easily as if it had been spoken. _Watch out for my little brother…keep him safe. _"Will do, Dean," Bobby replied confidently. "Will do."

"Sammy?" Green eyes then turned to the youngest of the group. "You've got this one, kiddo…all the way."

The psychic's heart warmed at the encouragement. "Thanks…be careful, Dean." _Stay safe big brother…_

"Right back at ya." _You too, little bro. _Parting nods given, Dean watched his mentor and his younger sibling walk away towards the back of the factory as instructed. He turned to Gordon. "Okay, let's get in there before the demon finds out it's got company."

"Worried about the kid, are ya?" Gordon sneered. "Which is exactly why you shouldn't have brought him on this hunt…worry gets you killed."

"Ya know, as I recall _you're_ the one who wanted him to come so bad, but either way I don't have time to get into this, man…let's just get movin'."

"Fine…but just remember what I said when you're either lyin' in traction in a hospital bed or weepin' over little Sammy's lifeless body."

Dean resisted the urge to counterstrike at Gordon's cruel words as the two men hurried across the street with the factory's main door in sight. Positioning their holy water jugs at the ready, the younger hunter then kicked in the door and brazenly further announced his entrance. "Special delivery out in front…anyone here to collect?"

The shout echoed throughout the massive empty space to be met with silence. "Hello?" Dean tried again. "Candy-gram!" Gordon had gone on ahead of him, scouting various dark corners and casing the joint in general, so Dean had only himself to sigh to, purposefully loud and theatrically. "Oh well…must have the wrong address. Guess I'd better be goin'."

"_No," _a chilling voice suddenly sounded from the shadows. _"Stay…it's been too long since I've had guests."_

Dean unexpectedly found himself sailing backwards at the words, to then crash against a wall and be held there by an invisible force. He watched in silence as a leggy raven-haired woman in a long, black spaghetti-strapped dress stepped out from the gloom, a lecherous smile on her ruby-red lips…followed by a tall man in a gray three-piece suit with salt and pepper hair. "You heard my wife," the man spoke first.

_There were _two_? Oh SHIT… _"Wife?" Dean outwardly scoffed. "Oh, so now you things have marriage licenses? Damn…where the hell did you find a minister, I wonder…"

"Why, _Hell_, dear…you said it," the she-demon grinned. "And thank you for being so incompetent that we got out of that horrible place, by the way."

Green eyes rolled in annoyance. "Sorry, but do I know you?"

"No," the man answered. "But we know you…Dean Winchester. Knew your father, too." Sinister laughter permeated the air but was seconds later interrupted by a shrill female scream.

"Well, do you Hell-bitches know _me_?" Gordon greeted as he came out of hiding, splashing holy water directly into the she-demon's face. "'Cause by the time I'm through with ya, you'll never _forget_ me."

"Lila!" The male shouted, his hold on Dean temporarily forgotten in concern for his mate. It was enough time for the young hunter, though. Within seconds he had sprung back to his feet and flung his own supply of holy water into the man's face, incapacitating him as well for the time being. He and Gordon continued their dual assault, driving the demons back to where Sam and Bobby lay in wait, the devil's trap hopefully already drawn…and big enough to hold two rather than just one.

Upon finally reaching the designated area, however…they could clearly see that it unfortunately didn't meet the unforeseen latter requirement.

"There were two?!" yelled Bobby's incredulous voice as they came into view.

"Obviously!" Dean volleyed back as he and Gordon kept up their holy water barrage. "We need another trap!"

"Sam!" Bobby ordered as he tossed the youngest hunter a can of spray paint. "Get to drawin', you're quicker, I'll do the exorcism!"

Sam caught the can and wordlessly dropped to the floor, using his long arms and agility to quickly complete another large circle. He was just starting on the pentagram when a loud growl of rage came from the male demon as he was forced into the first devil's trap. The female then wailed in despair in turn, so loudly and shrilly that all four men in the room had to cover their ears…and that turned out to be all the break that the she-demon needed. Eyes bleeding black, she sent both Dean and Gordon flying away from her with a wave of her hand before shifting those soulless eyes to Bobby, putting him an invisible chokehold. Wicked grin splitting her face, she then finally turned to Sam. "I'd drop the can if I were you, sweetheart." To emphasize her point, she tightened her telekinetic grip on the eldest hunter.

Sam instantly complied, the can hitting the floor. "Okay, done…now let him go."

"Not until all of _you_ let my husband go," the woman snarled. "I can crush his larynx with a mere thought, I assure you…_agh_!"

The female screamed as she was once again hit with a blast of holy water, Gordon and Dean both in the process of recovery. Her hold on Bobby now lost, the bearded man motioned for Sam to finish the trap as he tried to catch his breath in order to begin the exorcism. But before Sam could even complete another section, the demon had shaken off the latest attack and turned her attention fully on him. "I thought I told you to drop it, cutie-pie…guess I'll just have to drop _you_ instead."

Sam could only gasp as he was lifted off the ground by unseen hands at the she-demon's ominous words and thrown a short distance…right in the direction of the first devil's trap. The young man knew what was coming, but even so had no control as his body skidded across the lines, smearing the still-wet paint some areas and nearly outright removing it in others…just enough to render the trap newly useless. With a mighty roar of fury, the male demon escaped his confines and stood tall, black eyes glinting murderously, their sights set on the fallen psychic. Sam tried to crab-crawl backwards in a desperate bid for escape, but to no avail as he felt that old familiar pain of hands latching around his long neck and squeezing…only this time the hands were corporeal, much more powerful. And the world was graying out all too quickly…

"_Sam_!" Suddenly the youngest hunter felt the cool sensation of more water splashing across his face and felt the hands loosen as their owner hissed in anguish. Like an impenetrable shield, there Dean stood between him and the male demon with not one but _two_ jugs of holy water now in his hands, making the stream of blessed liquid against the demon unrelenting. Gulping in painful breaths for air, Sam noticed the discarded spray paint can in his returning peripheral vision and reached for it himself, since Bobby and Gordon were busy fending off the female demon. If he could just finish both devil's traps this time, they might have a chance…

"Enough of these games!" the man's voice suddenly bellowed. All four hunters' attention turned to him, allowing the female the mere split-second it took to once again gain the upper-hand on her enemies. Sam and Dean watched with alarm as Bobby and Gordon were both slammed against a wall with brutal force, the impact this time jarring them enough to dislodge the jugs of holy water from their hands. Taking his own advantage of the distraction his wife's spectacle had provided, the male then turned the tables on Dean as well, sending a vicious kick to his stomach that caused his two holy water jugs to spill their precious contents as he crashed to the ground. Within seconds, he had sent the older Winchester to join his companions on the wall, leaving Sam standing alone and Dean and Bobby terrified at what was about to happen.

"Aww…who's gonna help you now, baby?" the female giggled as she circled Sam like a shark. "Out of water, out of friends…at our mercy."

"Exorcizamus te—_gah_!" Sam's beginning recital of the Rituale Romanum was cut off when a white-hot pain shot through his chest, bringing him to his knees and leaving him gasping for air. The male demon glared at the trio of hunters still plastered to the wall.

"I hear _any_ semblance of those words again, and I will eviscerate you _all_ from the inside out…starting with String-Bean over here."

"Leave him alone!" Dean shouted frantically. "Just leave him out of this, it's us you want over here, the veteran hunters…or are you too freakin' chicken to—_aaaaaaaaaagh_!"

"DEAN!" Sam's eyes widened in horror as the older Winchester began to writhe in agony where he was pinned, the female demon smiling sadistically. "No!" The young psychic clambered to his feet and turned a beseeching gaze on the woman. "Don't hurt him, please, it's me you want!"

"Oh leave him out of this, oh it's me you want," the male mimicked with a mocking tone before rolling his black eyes. "Oh _please_! So self-sacrificial, all of you…a bore to listen to. So…tell me, my dear." The man turned to his ebon-haired mate. "What do _you_ want?"

There was a brief intermission in Dean's torture as the woman licked her lips thoughtfully. "I want…hmm…I want…_pain_. Blood…_fun_." The she-demon smiled licentiously at Sam. "I want _him_ kept alive for now…as our pretty little pet. Chained, maybe strategically starved…and ready for the taking, for our_ pleasure_, anytime we want him. And…" she then turned to the other hunters, "as handsome as these men are, namely the green-eyed one…I just want them all dead. Too dangerous…too much trouble." With that, she narrowed her piercing gaze on back on Dean, who instantly resumed screaming.

"_Noooo_!"

"_Yes_," the woman gloated at Sam's desperate shout, about to finish the green-eyed hunter off for good…when she was abruptly halted once again as a blinding pain flared through her own chest. "Unh, what…GAH!" The force of the next spasm stole her breath away in an instant, and she finally turned to see the youngest hunter with his long arm outstretched, palm out…his pupils blown wide in desperation, panic, and power. "It's _you_." Her black eyes grew large in fear…she now knew just who she was dealing with, and that she was more than likely now living her last moments on earth.

"Lila? What—_agh_!" The male's concern was cut off as an invisible force pulled him beside his mate and into Sam's line of fire…the young psychic hadn't forgotten about him. The demons writhed and screamed in terror as their essences lost hold on their hosts' bodies, while nearby, Dean and Bobby assisted the only way they could; working to finish the half-completed second devil's trap and repair the first – just in case anything went awry and there arose a need to do a verbal exorcism – and glancing up every few seconds with trepidation as Sam continued his mental one.

Gordon Walker, however, did nothing to assist any of them. He was stunned into stillness, watching the boy he had up until then ridiculed and dismissed as helpless and vulnerable exorcise the vicious Hell-bitches with merely the occasional grimace and gritted teeth to show for it…using his mind. _He's one of them…he IS him…he's that damn psychic kid!_

And Gordon's suspicions were confirmed once and for all as, in the final stage of the powerful demons' expulsions…he witnessed Sam Murphy's blue-green orbs, plus the white surrounding them, turn _jet-black_.

Righteous anger filling him, he paid no attention to the loud gasp that pierced the night just behind him.

TBC…

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: Okay, okay, before the angry mob descends, LOL, please let me reiterate…no demon blood drinking in this story; I didn't go back on my word, promise. There's another explanation for why Sam's eyes have turned black…I won't give it away here, of course, but you'll get it before the end of the fic, don't worry!

However, if you're freaking out about what's going to happen in the next chapter, well…yeah, feel free to worry about _that_, LOL. 'Cause as you can surely imagine, it's definitely not gonna be a walk in the park for anyone… Oh, and Little Chute, Wisconsin is another one of those real cities used fictionally, LOL...there may be a factory there and there may not! ;-)

Like a broken record I say thanks again to my LLS for her beta work, and to all of you who read and review this story – whether you've done so faithfully for a while now or if you've just found it – your positive words and interest make this a pleasure! Also again to **ukfan101** since I can't reply directly to your review – yep, I think you're gonna find you were pretty accurate on your predictions, LOL…thanks again! Next chapter will be up Thursday, everybody! :-D


	13. Chapter 13

DISCLAIMER: I oo-day ot-nay own _upernatural-Say_; it's all ipke-Kray's. Yes, that's the only Latin I know…I'm not the inchester-Way others-bray, okay?! And actually, I don't even really know if my pig Latin is even all correct...LOL. ;-)

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Bless the Broken Road**

PREVIOUSLY: _And Gordon's suspicions were confirmed once and for all as, in the final stage of the powerful demons' expulsions…he witnessed Sam Murphy's blue-green orbs, plus the white surrounding them, turn _jet-black_._

_Righteous anger filling him, he paid no attention to the loud gasp that pierced the night just behind him._

**Chapter 13**

_Sammy…? What…oh God no…no… _Dean Winchester's breath caught in his throat on a painful wheeze, his world crumbling in an instant upon the unholy sight of the young psychic's ebon eyes…this couldn't be happening. He unconsciously pinched himself once, twice, in a distraught attempt to wake up from what surely had to be a nightmare of the worst kind…but soon enough realized it was ultimately futile. Because even as much as he yearned to, physically _ached_ to…there was no denying the now exposed truth. The boy before him who, in mere weeks, he had come to respect, like, and even _love_…his own _baby brother_ for God's sake…

Was a damned half-breed…part human, and part _demon_.

Demons were evil.

Demons had ruined his life, and taken his mother's and father's.

Demons were creatures to be hunted and killed, no exceptions…that was all there was to it.

He barely even noticed that the literal couple from Hell had left the building – not to mention their hosts, both already dead – in his shock and devastation…but he _did _notice the sound of the safety being disengaged from Gordon Walker's gun.

"What did I tell you bleeding-hearted fools?" the dark-skinned man seethed, eyes blazing with rage as they bored into Sam's once again wide and stricken blue-greens. "There are no damn shades of grey, _ever_, yet you weak-assed cowards hid him from me, that godforsaken psychic kid I told you about…that I _trusted_ you to take out if I couldn't. And look what you were taken in by now, what you _took _in…a black-eyed bastard."

A hitched breath sounded in the suffocating silence, followed by a soft, plaintive voice. "Please…m'not, I can—_GAAHH_!"

"SAM!" Bobby bellowed in horror at the loud pop of Gordon's gun and the sharp cry of pain from the youngest Winchester. "Gordon, _don't_!"

"Shut the HELL up, Singer!" came the addressed man's scathing reply before his dark glower turned back to meet Sam's impossibly round orbs, now filmed over with tears of fright and pain as he clutched his freshly wounded shoulder. "And _you_, you filthy, tainted _freak_…you think that look's gonna work on me like it did them? Maybe my next bullet goes right in between those big dewy eyes now that I've seen 'em turn_ black_…how 'bout that?" Gordon tapped his chin in mock-thought before aiming the gun in that very spot. "Yeah…I think that sounds damn good." Without hesitation the hunter squeezed the trigger, but his shot went wide when Bobby barreled into him from behind. Outraged at the interference and audacity of the action, he countered by mercilessly whipping the older man in the head with the butt of his weapon the instant the opportunity presented itself, causing Bobby to drop to the floor, dazed and weakened.

Sam's throat constricted in fear as he watched Bobby take on Gordon in his defense, his eyes at once then seeking out Dean in a plea for further help, for protection. But what he saw when Dean came into his sights…made his heart sink and shatter within seconds.

His older brother was staring at him dispassionately, a look of betrayal and revulsion on his hardened features.

The young psychic felt like he was breaking into a million pieces as he continued to stare imploringly, hoping against hope that Dean's stony expression would eventually falter…but it didn't. And finally, Sam lowered his gaze, knowing he had crossed an unforgivable line with his sibling…even if he had done it to save him and the others. It hurt – a deep, soul-rending anguish that he had never felt before in his life, even with the losses of Pastor Jim and Jessica – but he understood. Dean Winchester wasn't going to help him this time…he was a hunter first and foremost.

And Sam Winchester was back to being nothing more than Sam Murphy in his book…a half-demonic, psychic freak.

"Sam! Git outta here, kid, GO!"

Sam's attention turned back to the eldest hunter at the order, his instant instinctive need to help headed off at the pass by a vigorous shake of Bobby's head...seconds before Gordon brought his gun down on the back of it, easily felling the bearded man. _Oh God, oh no… _

Now terrified and torn on what to do, he raised his eyes one last time to see that Dean's glare remained unchanged still…and his final decision to ensure that the threat was re-focused on _him_ instead was thus cemented. _I've gotta lead Gordon away from them…m'sorry, Dean, you deserved better than me…_

Helpless to stop the crystalline tear that spilled down his cheek as he turned away from his brother for good, Sam then launched away. Purposefully pounding his feet against the ground as he broke out into a desperate run for the door…and for his life.

A mere stone's throw away, Gordon Walker was smiling down on the half-conscious Bobby Singer with smugness…the old fool wouldn't be fighting him again anytime soon. That taken care of, he then turned to finish off the last of the psychic kids…who was no longer there. "Where the hell…_damn it_!" The dark-skinned hunter visually followed the loud sound of fleeing feet to barely spot a blur of chestnut-brown and denim-blue disappearing into the factory's shadows toward the front door, and swiftly leapt to his own feet in hot pursuit. Sam Murphy was going to die _tonight_, by his hand.

And this time he knew, glancing back at an impassively stationary Dean Winchester in satisfaction…there would be no one to stand in his way.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Wooziness and fuzzy vision were the first things to greet Bobby as he came to…along with a healthy hankering to kick Gordon Walker's sorry ass the minute he laid eyes on the bastard. But a quick scan of the room showed that the object of his hatred was nowhere to be found, and more worryingly…neither was Sam. It was only him and one Dean Winchester now, who was standing there staring into space like a knot on a log…not lifting a finger to help anyone. _What the hell's gotten into that boy…? _"Dean?" No response…not even a blink. He tried louder. "Dean!" Still nothing.

"Damn it," Bobby grumbled to himself as he rose shakily to his feet, feeling the slow trickle of blood down the back of his neck and hoping Gordon's pistol-whipping hadn't given him a concussion as well. Staggering over to his younger companion, he snapped his fingers in front of the empty emerald eyes, finally garnering a response as they focused on his face. "There ya are, son. What the hell happened…where's Sam?" The older hunter found himself taken aback when the formerly emotionless orbs filled with despair of unparalleled proportions upon the seemingly innocent question.

"Bobby…he's…he's gone. Sam's gone."

"Gone...what do you mean gone?" Bobby whispered, his heart filling with dread. "Gordon didn't…oh God, tell me that son of a bitch didn't kill the kid?" No immediate response came to his quell his anxiety, and the salvage yard owner grew impatient. "Dean! Talk to me, boy…what happened to Sam?"

"He ran," Dean replied in a monotone voice. "After Gordon knocked you out…he ran while he was busy with you…like a coward."

"A coward?" Bobby's eyes narrowed. "And jus' what were you doin' over here that whole time, may I ask…_bravely_ catchin' flies in your mouth?" The elder man tamped down his mounting anger. "You still didn't answer my question…where did Sam go?"

"I told you, he ran!" Dean's voice finally rose in volume and intensity. "Didn't you _tell_ him to, anyway?"

"M'not sure…did I?" Bobby rubbed the back of his potentially scrambled head.

"Yeah, you did, but whatever. Gordon went after him…I don't know where he went, though."

The older man's mouth dropped open in incredulity. "You don't know…okay, fine, but pray tell me do you even _care_? 'Cause if I didn't know any better, I'd be thinkin' ya sound _exactly_ like you _don't_ right now."

"And you'd be right," Dean admitted stoically. "You saw him, Bobby…you saw what happened."

Faded blue eyes hardened underneath the brim of Bobby's trucker's cap…he suddenly realized where this was all going and couldn't believe his ears. "Yeah, I saw him, all right!" Nor could he hold back his outrage. "I saw him save all of our lives by exorcising those black-eyed bitches and—"

"And then he became one himself!" the Winchester exploded. "Sam _turned_, Bobby…he turned freakin' demon…he's one of _them_, was probably all along!"

"Yeah? And ya know what else he's been all along, Dean?" Bobby fired back with equal fervor. "Your little brother…black eyes or no!"

"No freakin' _demon_ is a brother of mine," the younger hunter growled, and his elder resisted the impulse to smack him in the mouth.

"Ya damn idjit! Think about this, boy…think about how Sam likely knew that doin' that exorcism was gonna blow his cover in the worst way, and in front of the worst possible person, but he did it anyway…and you know why?" Bobby jabbed a sharp finger into Dean's chest. "For _you_, Dean! He saw that the bitch was killin' you, he heard you screamin' and he knew that the only chance you had was his powers, even though he knew that usin' 'em was more than likely to earn 'im a bullet from Gordon's gun faster than he could bat an eye…and it did. The bastard shot the kid in the shoulder and would've done a lot worse if I hadn't stopped 'im, and you saw all that and didn't take a step? You saw that I was down for the count, and you let that nutjob take off after the kid guns 'a blazin' without givin' a damn that the kid's likely to _die_ before the night's through?"

The elder hunter, to his relief, finally saw awareness and regret beginning to creep into the green gaze locked with his and he grabbed Dean by the biceps, giving him a harsh shake despite his own aching head to bring his point home. "For Chrissakes, Dean, he's your brother, your _family_! And he's proven it time and time again over these past weeks, long before the DNA results came back…and you damn well know it, too."

"Bobby…I…his eyes…" Dean no longer sounded so certain or concrete in his resolution not to care, and the young hunter knew deep down…that was the way his heart ultimately felt as well.

"I know, I saw." The older man's tone softened considerably in correspondence to Dean's attitude. "But son, if Sam was a _true_ demon, was evil in any sorta way…we wouldn't be breathin' right now. In fact we would've been dead a long time ago, prob'ly the first night he stayed with us…would've been too easy for him to've killed us at any time. But he didn't…'cause you're well aware now that he ain't like that." The vice grip on Dean's arms slackened, callused hands sliding up to rest gently on his shoulders. "Sam gave himself up to save you, son," Bobby entreated as he stared into increasingly remorseful green orbs. "Don't let a black 'n white view of things blind ya to that, or to all the other feelings ya still have for the kid…don't let it take your brother away from you when ya've finally found 'im after all this time livin' without 'im. Unless, that is, ya think you can go back to life before 'im…so…_can ya_?"

A strangled breath shuddered out of Dean before he gave his final answer in a whisper-soft tone. "No." Muscles tensed underneath Bobby's hands. "No…oh God, no…what've I done? Gordon's gonna kill him…he won't stop until it's over, we've gotta—"

"Save him?" Bobby smiled. "Damn right we do…and we damn well will. Gordon can go straight to hell."

Dean nodded brusquely as he checked the magazine of his weapon while power-walking in the direction Sam and Gordon had run, waiting for Bobby to catch up. "Yeah, and if he's so much as harmed a hair on my brother's head…that's just where I'm gonna send him."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A dark-skinned finger caressed the trigger of a pocketed gun longingly and eagerly as an expert hunter prowled the gloomy streets in search of his prey. Gordon Walker had lost sight of Sam's fleeing feet some time ago – the boy's long, lean legs having given him a significant advantage in speed and strength – and now his pursuit had become a deadly game of hide-and-go-seek…one that Gordon intended to win at any cost. Garbage cans were overturned, dumpster lids thrown open, abandoned and occupied buildings alike scoured in hopes of discovering the young psychic's refuge, which, when found, Gordon planned to yank him out of by force…whether people were watching or not. From there, he would drag Sam into the nearest deserted alley and splatter his brains all over the pavement, quick and mercilessly. He couldn't wait, bloodlust singing through his veins…

But when nearly half an hour of searching had proven fruitless, the hunter ultimately realized that more desperate measures would have to be taken in order to draw Sam out. And like manna from Heaven, his need for a means to an end was soon enough met as he spotted a young girl, probably around Sam's age give or take, standing at her car and rifling through her purse to presumably find her keys. It was kismet.

The girl never knew what hit her.

Gordon, however, was well aware of what had – the butt of his handgun…much like what had happened with Bobby Singer. He caught the young woman as she dropped her purse and slumped forward in dazedness, a small knot already beginning to form underneath her curly blonde hair and blood gleaming around the point of injury. Only a few drops, though…he hadn't hit her _too_ hard, after all, wanting her to be conscious for the service she was about to provide. Glossy pink lips opened to let out a scream, but the sound was stifled when Gordon's rough hand clamped down over them, his other hand still gripping the gun that was now held against her stomach, arm wrapped tightly around her torso to prevent her escape.

"Relax, sweetheart," the hunter crooned darkly in her ear. "I'm not gonna hurt ya…as long as our little Sammy-boy doesn't make me." A muffled shriek sent vibrations through Gordon's hand and chest, causing him to chuckle. "Yeah…I know you don't know who Sammy is…but don't worry, he'll come outta hiding to save a pretty girl like you. And then…I'll kill 'im." The girl's teary blue eyes widened at the blunt declaration, heart thumping faster. "Oh, don't worry," Gordon consoled. "After he's dead, you'll be free to go…promise. But until our handsome hero shows?" Another strangled scream sounded as the girl was slammed against the hood of her car, hands wrenched and bound behind her back within seconds before the hunter jerked her up again, prodding her forward with the gun while keeping a firm hold on the join of the rope around her wrists. "You're the token damsel in distress. And if you even _try_ to scream for help before my cue…it'll be the last sound you ever make."

The girl nodded shakily in response, feet stumbling forward at her attacker's forceful urging and the gun pressed just discreetly enough against her back that it would be invisible to any casual passersby…much like the rope. "Wh-where are you taking me?"

"Wherever Sammy happens to be, Goldilocks," came Gordon's breezy reply.

The girl swallowed audibly. "W-what…? Who's S-Sammy?"

"Aw, nobody important." A cruel smile stretched across the hunter's dark face. "Just a worthless kid who's gonna die before the sun comes up."

"Wh-what…wh-why?" the blonde stammered, a measure of fear now filling her for the unknown young man's life as well as her own. She winced as the gun dug harder into her back.

"Because he has to," Gordon growled. "And I'm gonna enjoy doin' it too…you can watch, of course. You'll actually have no choice."

"What has he done to deserve this?" the young woman demanded cautiously. "What have _I _done?!"

"You…were just in the wrong place, wrong time. A convenience for me…nothing personal," Gordon assured before his tone darkened. "_He_, however…is a monster. Trust me on that. A literal Hell-spawn."

The girl's lips thinned in disgust, but not enough to stop the bold words that emitted from her mouth in retort. "The only monster I've seen around here is _you_."

Sure enough, the gutsy comeback got an instant response as Gordon spun the girl around and hit her across the face, knocking her to the ground. In terror and desperation, she surged to her feet and broke out into a run with her hands still tied behind her, but naturally didn't get far as Gordon lunged after her, catching her around the waist and wrenching her backwards. The momentum took them both down, and the hunter was about to end the defiant bitch's kicking, flailing, and screaming with a well-placed bullet to the skull when a deep, commanding voice sounded from the shadows.

"_Let her go_!"

Sam Winchester emerged upon his own order, standing tall and proud, from the run-down structure in which he'd been taking shelter in hopes that he could give Gordon the slip. But upon hearing the sounds of a struggle and frantic female screams coming from outside, the young psychic had known his adversary was about to do something drastic…and he knew that it was his responsibility to stop it, no matter what. He hadn't hesitated for even a second to show himself, even well aware that the decision could likely be the death of him, but was now glad that he'd made it upon seeing the innocent girl Gordon Walker currently held in his clutches, one fist full of blonde curls and the other holding a pistol against her temple.

"_Sammy_." The older hunter's smile was positively unctuous. He turned to the young woman as he held her trembling form against him once again. "Knew you'd get his attention, sweetheart…sensitive kid like him can't stand to see civilians get hurt…especially when they're helpless pretty things that sorta resemble his dead girlfriend, from the pictures I've seen… Can ya, Sammy?"

"You son of a bitch," the young man hissed, at which Gordon merely chuckled.

"Careful…that's my mama you're talkin' about."

"Well if only she could see you now," Sam snarled back, upper lip curling. "I'm sure she'd be really freakin' proud."

"Just like your oh-so good friend and trainer Dean is, eh? And your parents…all _how_ many of 'em that died because of you and those black eyes you were sportin' a little while ago, you little half-breed abomination."

"Let the girl go, Gordon." Sam didn't rise to the bait, even though his heart gave a fresh pang at the memory of his brother's cold, uncaring stare back in the factory. "It's obviously me that you want; well…you've got me. You can _have_ me…in exchange for her. She has nothing to do with any of this."

"Well, aren't you the little martyr, kid," the older hunter sneered. "But actually…I think this gal's seen too much…wouldn't wanna leave any witnesses now, would I?"

Sam's eyes widened in horror as Gordon prepared to fire and without even thinking, he launched himself at the older man, sending all three of them tumbling but succeeding in dislodging the gun from Gordon's grasp. The psychic struggled against the hunter as he whipped his head around to meet the terrified blue eyes of the girl, his own blue-greens earnest and insistent. "Run, I'll hold him off!"

The girl was nearly choking on her tears as she stood, chest heaving, glancing incredulously at her imperiled young savior. "What about you?!"

"Don't worry about me!" Sam's answer was immediate. "Just get out of here, hurry!" He inwardly sighed in relief as the woman finally obeyed while he continued to outwardly grapple with an enraged Gordon. But his strength was fading considerably, the blood loss from his shoulder wound having taken a toll as it had begun to leak again through the makeshift bandage with his thrashing about. And then suddenly, as if he'd read Sam's mind, the injury drew Gordon's attention as well. He jammed his thumb into the still burning and bleeding bullet hole, causing Sam to cry out in pain.

Gordon grinned wickedly as he then proceeded to straddle Sam and punch him hard across the face, twice. "Oops, sorry…guess that still stings, huh?" His taunts went no further however as Sam countered with a mighty thrust of his powerful legs that detached Gordon from him with a vengeance. The young psychic immediately sought out the dislocated gun, finally spotting it lying only a few feet away from him, possibly within reach of one of his long arms. He flipped himself over onto his stomach, stretching his lengthy body and shimmying along the ground as far as he could, fingertips barely having grazed the weapon when he felt an intense, searing pain shoot through his right ankle, lower calf, and up the rest of his body, his ripping scream of agony piercing the night. His muscles turned to jelly, the all-consuming pain rendering him completely immobile as Gordon harshly kicked him in the side, the impact flopping him back over like a ragdoll. The older hunter stood above him haughtily, sheathing a small, newly bloodied knife.

"Do you know how the Achilles' tendon got its name, Sammy?" Gordon questioned coolly. "It's one of the most vulnerable parts on the body…ya can't even walk if it gets severed, so…sucks to be you."

Sam had no rejoinder this time, could barely even breathe through the pain as Gordon casually meandered over and retrieved the gun, all-too aware that his death was now imminent. _M'sorry, Dean…should've told you, never meant to hurt you… _

"Now," Gordon hummed above him. "Where should I put the next bullet, let's see…" Sam felt the barrel of the gun brush away feathery brown curls as it nestled against his ear, and he sucked in a sharp breath. "Maybe here? Nah…too quick. How about…here?" The cold metal then slid across to rest just over top of one tear-filled blue-green eye, causing it to squeeze shut in fright. "Nah, not there either…wanna see the light go out in those eyes of yours. I think I'll do it…here!" With no further warning, the bullet tore cruelly through Sam's left side, just above his hip. Gordon laughed as the boy panted in hitching sobs and teasingly ruffled his shaggy hair. "Don't worry, kid, I know what I'm doin'…didn't hit any vital organs, savin' that for last. 'Cause _first_…I wanna give you the chance."

"Ch-chance to…to what?" Sam could barely force out through gritted teeth.

"What do you think?" Gordon smiled indecently. "Come on, Psychic Boy…half-blood Hell-freak. Save yourself." The hunter spread his arms out mockingly. "You've got the powers…knock me out with your TK…kill me with a thought. Hell, call on your demon-buddies to do the job…come on, try me. Show the world the big, bad killer you really are, Sammy."

Pain-glazed blue-green eyes suddenly filled with fiery resolve. "No."

Gordon's brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I s-said no," the young psychic repeated. "And it's S-Sam, you asshole."

The older hunter stayed silent for a moment before huffing out a breath, shaking his head at Sam's words. "Ya know, you've got spunk, kid. Defiant right to the bitter end…I respect that." Dark eyes shifted to the side in thought. "I mean, damn…I almost wanna keep you."

"I'd rather die," Sam snarled without hesitation, eyes blazing. Gordon smirked.

"Aw, come on…it wouldn't be such a bad existence. I'd take ya along on hunts as my own personal demon exorcising tool. And when you weren't in use, I'd keep ya chained up in some dark, dank cellar…food, water, maybe a filthy mattress to sleep on…and nothin' else. To condition ya."

"F-funny," Sam responded, distaste thick within his tone. "You s-sound exactly l-like that demon I exorcised t-tonight…she w-wanted to keep me p-prisoner, too. Pot, meet k-kettle, I guess…right?'

"Mere coincidence," Gordon brushed off. "And I'd be usin' you to _stop_ demons like her, so it's different. And maybe…maybe a little constant leverage would do me some good." The hunter looked off into the distance, an idea obviously formulating in his head. "Maybe…I could grab that girl again."

Sam looked up in shock into the dark, scheming eyes. "Wh-what?"

"You know…" Gordon shrugged. "Since you responded so predictably the first time she was in danger. Maybe I could keep her under lock and key right along with ya…hold the threat of her death over your head every time you think of steppin' outta line, make her well-being dependent on your obedience and submission…yeah. I think that might just work."

"But…but how c-can you say that…even _think_ it?" Sam inquired incredulously and disgustedly, unable to believe his ears. "You're a hunter…an' that…that's n-not what hunting's about! It's about s-saving innocent people…not hurting them or…or threatening them!" But a loud snort was the only reaction elicited from the dark-skinned man, making the youngest Winchester balk even further.

"Such an insipid Pollyanna view of things you've got there, Sammy-boy," Gordon derided. "Well let me welcome you to the real world, kid, 'cause the fact is? I couldn't care less about that heroic, humanitarian shit." Sam gasped as the hunter's hand gripped him harshly by the chin, his thick swallow causing the steely barrel of the gun now pressed just underneath his jaw line to briefly rise and fall with the convulsive motion. "And I honestly don't care _how_ many people I have to go through to get my kills, just as long as I get 'em…'cause _that_, m'boy, is what_ I_ live for in this life, the thrill of the hunt and the satisfaction of endin' as many filthy creatures as I can. To hell with what the rest of those goody-two-shoes out there think…including and _especially_ you and Bobby Singer."

"You're insane," Sam breathed in disbelief. Quiet, chilling laughter filled the air in response.

"Yeah, I can see where some might think that…but actually, I'm as sane as they come. I just do what I have to do to get the job done, ya see…just like I'm gonna do right now," Gordon proclaimed with a serious expression as he cocked back the hammer of his weapon. "'Cause Dean's done seen the real you…and he ain't gonna come ridin' to your rescue now or ever. So…without further ado…adios, Sammy-boy."

The hunter prepared to fire without compunction as wide eyes squeezed shut in inevitability of death…but his finger could only halt on the trigger as a livid voice cut through the silence, proving the next to last statement he'd made to his intended victim completely and utterly _wrong_.

"_Guess again, you twisted bastard_."

TBC…

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: Uh-oh…I'll give y'all three guesses as to who's arrived on the scene now, and the first two don't count! LOL. Thank goodness for that talking-to good ol' Bobby gave Dean, eh? And meanwhile we have a courageous, defiant, but also very injured Sam and – as I'm sure was expected – a very diabolical and ruthless Gordon! Which can only mean for a big showdown coming up…right? Heehee…hope everyone's seatbelt is fastened!

Continuing thanks to my LLS for the beta and to everyone reading and reviewing – I do so enjoy and appreciate hearing from everyone, old readers and new ones alike! Chapter 14 will be up Saturday, and we'll see exactly what transpired on the other end of things to lead up to this point…and of course, what happens next! :-D


	14. Chapter 14

DISCLAIMER: If I had any control over _Supernatural_…when that Gary kid swapped bodies with Sam? Let's just say he would've been admiring his new, hot physique a LOT more extensively in that arm flex scene…and with a lot less clothes on!

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Bless the Broken Road**

PREVIOUSLY: _The hunter prepared to fire without compunction as wide eyes squeezed shut in inevitability of death…but his finger could only halt on the trigger as a livid voice cut through the silence, proving the next to last statement he'd made to his intended victim completely and utterly _wrong_._

"Guess again, you twisted bastard_."_

**Chapter 14**

Dean and Bobby had been scanning the streets by foot for what seemed like hours – but what had probably in reality only been minutes – in search of the youngest Winchester when they saw her. A young, probably twenty-something blonde, clumsily stumbling through the night toward some unknown destination, away from some unknown threat…the obvious sufferer of a recent trauma if the ripped clothes and the mascara rivulets staining her bruised cheeks were anything to go by. Dean sighed heavily; he didn't have time for this…he had to find Sam, sooner being much more preferable than later. But he couldn't ignore his ingrained need to help where and whenever he saw a need for it, no matter how much he wanted to at this point. He sighed again and nudged Bobby to stop before calling out to the girl. "Miss? Miss, hey!" Frightened blue eyes turned in his direction and Dean pressed on. "You okay…do you need us to call somebody?"

"Oh, God!" The green-eyed hunter couldn't hide his surprise when his causal question elicited an anything but casual response, the girl instantly rushing their way. "You have to call the police, please, there was a fight and—"

"What happened to you, ma'am?" Bobby interrupted. "What's your name?"

"Chelsea," the girl answered quickly. "And I got kidnapped and held hostage by some crazy guy with a gun but it wasn't me he was after, it was this boy and he—"

"A boy?" Dean's attention immediately perked. "Did you see him? Tall, long dark hair, maybe?"

"Yes, and the crazy guy kept calling him Sammy if that helps any, but—"

"Oh shit!" the younger hunter exclaimed. "Did the crazy guy happen to be called Gordon by any chance?"

"Yes, but would you just listen to me for a second?!" the girl finally exploded. "That boy needs help, he saved me and he was fighting the crazy guy last I saw of him so I could get away, but if somebody doesn't do something _now_ that psycho's gonna kill him!"

Bobby stepped in and grasped the now almost hysterical girl firmly by her shoulders to still her jerky movements, speaking to her levelly. "Calm down, Chelsea; believe me_,_ we _wanna_ do something 'cause that kid's his little brother." The hunter swiftly staved off the apology he could see forming on the girl's quivering lips as she shot a tearful glance at Dean. "Don't, s'not your fault, okay? Just please, if you can remember anything about where you last saw them—"

"I do," Chelsea immediately replied. "I can take you to the place because it's not too far, but I think that crazy guy wants to kill me too now—"

"We'll keep you safe, don't worry," Dean assured. "Which way?"

"This way," the girl motioned as she took off sprinting hastily back in the direction from which she'd fled, the hunters following with their guns already drawn. "So are you two cops or something?" she couldn't help but question just over her shoulder.

"Something like that," Bobby huffed as he increased his speed to keep with the two younger people. "But we should be quiet now, we don't wanna give Gordon too much of a heads-up…and when we start gettin' close to the place, hold back so we can have a little stealth."

Chelsea nodded at Bobby's instructions and complete silence reigned for a few blocks more, save for the pounding of three sets of feet on the asphalt, before the girl abruptly slowed her pace, Dean and Bobby instinctively now moving in front of her for protection. Up ahead, they could indeed hear a scuffle of some sort taking place, the voices soon enough easily recognizable as those of Sam and Gordon.

Dean Winchester needed no further prompt. Putting on a sudden burst of speed, he rounded the corner of a dilapidated, deserted block to find his baby brother with a gun pressed to the underside of his chin, Gordon's finger cocking back the hammer as he callously informed the boy that Dean wasn't going to save him and moreover, didn't _care_ to. _Wrong, you freakin' psycho. _Anger coursed through his veins as he made his presence known, his countering words clear-cut and venomous.

"Guess again, you twisted bastard."

Gordon's head slowly rose at the unexpected voice, dark eyes meeting furious emerald orbs in surprise. "Dean…well, well, whadda'ya know. Come to help me put this little freak outta his misery?"

"You hurt him, and _you'll _be the one put out of your misery, you son of a bitch," the younger hunter snarled, causing Gordon to frown.

"Did I hear you right, Dean?" the dark-skinned man queried. "You don't think this damn monster right here should die?" Hand still clamped beneath Sam's jaw, he roughly hauled the young psychic to his knees, twisting him around to face the familiar newcomer while keeping his iron grip and giving the boy's head a harsh shake. "You didn't see these damn puppy eyes of his turn solid _black_ back in that factory…the _real_ him?!"

Dean's expression didn't waver. "Yeah, I saw." He then looked at Sam, taking in the devastatingly uncertain and fearful look on his young face, huge blue-green orbs brimming with tears of untold hurt that clung to his long lashes, disheveled chestnut bangs falling haphazardly across his pain-lined brow. The innocent, vulnerable child that he'd never gotten the chance to know…the wary but determined kid he'd taken under his wing…the passionate and _com_passionate man who'd saved his life without regard for his own. All rolled into one infinitely precious package: his little brother. Keeping his gaze locked with Sam's, he answered Gordon with new and final resolve. "And I don't care. Especially now that I've seen the real_ you_, too."

The older hunter's face contorted into a disbelieving scowl upon Dean's words. Mentally railing at the stupidity of it all, he slung Sam's long body ruthlessly back to the pavement, the boy crying out as the impact jostled his numerous wounds. "Fine. I guess I'll just have to handle this one myself!" Gordon proclaimed as he aimed the gun directly between Sam's wide, terrified eyes…

"_Nooo!"_

…only to have the weapon knocked from his hand as Dean caught him in a flying tackle, the momentum tearing him bodily away from his helpless prey. Gordon bared his teeth as he attacked in retaliation, his deadly sights now set on his former friend turned betrayer. Punches were thrown and blocked, injuries given and received, grunts of effort and pain abounding as the two powerful hunters clashed. Gordon had ironically taught Dean several of the moves he was employing and remained superior in some, while in others, the student had surpassed the teacher…making for a remarkably overall even match.

Unbeknownst to the pair amidst the melee, Bobby had finally arrived on the scene – with Chelsea cautiously in tow – and rushed over to defend and tend to a clearly flagging Sam, immediately extracting a handkerchief from his coat pocket and tearing it in two, pressing one half against the new bullet wound in the young psychic's flank and wrapping the other around his bleeding ankle. "Hold on, boy, help is on the way, we've called an ambulance."

"B-Bobby?"

Sam's soft, weakened voice sent a twinge flaring through the older hunter's chest. "Yeah kiddo, s'me, you're gonna be okay," Bobby attempted to soothe as he tried to monitor both brothers at the same time, anxious eyes darting from younger to older.

Meanwhile the fight raged on until finally, a well-placed upper-cut to the chin sent one hunter reeling and crashing to the ground, with the other immediately bearing down on the fallen man and delivering additional punches to the face and stomach. Dean Winchester could only see stars as Gordon Walker loomed dangerously above him, a fierce glower on his face and brutal words spilling from his upturned lips.

"I really hate to do this, Winchester, but you leave me no choice." The barrel of the hunter's gun lined with Dean's forehead. "I meant what I told your precious Sammy; I don't care how many people I have to go through to get my kills, and nor do I care _who_ they are…you may have been my partner just a week ago, but tonight you defended a monster and that makes you no better than that monster yourself." A brusque foot plowed into Dean's stomach as he tried to recover, winding him once more and reducing him back to incapacity. "I'm sorry it had to end this way, Dean," Gordon asserted somberly as he primed the trigger to be pulled. "And I'll make sure that damn half-breed freak dies slow and bloody for all the shit he's caused if it's the last thing I ever do, I promise you that."

Sam's pain-heavy body reflexively jolted at the deafening crack of a gun going off, horror freezing the blood in his veins. _Oh God, oh no, Dean, nonono! _But it was within seconds followed by the steady, resolute voice of the eldest hunter amongst them.

"You've just _done_ the last thing you're ever gonna do, you self-righteous asshole."

The young psychic summoned all the strength left in his muscles to turn his head to the side at the bold words to see smoke rising from Bobby Singer's gun, while the one formerly aimed at Dean dropped from suddenly limp fingers to hit the pavement with a loud clack…followed seconds later by the body of Gordon Walker himself, a fatal bullet wound gushing crimson from the side of his head.

Tightly closed emerald eyes slowly opened upon hearing the noises of impact, fluttering shut once again in a deep sigh of relief when they were met with the sight of Bobby standing above in place of Gordon. Dean's voice couldn't help but waver even as he tried to speak casually. "Damn…what took ya so long, old man?"

"Well, you're just fine, I see," Bobby said with an eye roll.

"Yeah," Dean answered quietly. _Thanks to you… _The elder Winchester propped himself up on his elbows and looked around, finally spotting the body slumped a few feet from him, blood soaking into the pavement. "Gordon? Bobby…is he…?"

"Dead?" Bobby finished before softening his tone. "Yeah, boy…he is. I had no choice…it was either him or you."

Dean struggled into a sitting position, solemn green eyes locking with faded blue ones. "Yeah, man…I know. M'not mad…not sad, either. I mean, Gordon obviously went off the deep end a little too far this time…" The young hunter shot a quick glance at Chelsea, who was knelt down beside something speaking softly, before turning back to Bobby. "Plus, he would've killed—_Sammy_. Oh, shit…SAMMY!"

Dean's body surged upward at his own shout, unable to contain the sudden burst of adrenaline even as Bobby tried to contain and restrain the young man. "_Whoa_, there, cowboy…take it a little easier, come on." The salvage yard owner pulled Dean gently to his feet, wrapping a steadying arm around his waist and proceeding to carefully walk forward. "Come on, we'll go to Sam right now." The journey took no more than fifteen seconds, and Bobby gingerly helped lower Dean to the ground as they reached Sam's side.

"Oh God…Sammy." The elder brother's words were breathed out on a gasp as he took in the damage to the younger boy, along with the way he was suddenly shivering and the glaze of pain in the large blue-green eyes. "Sammy, oh kiddo I'm sorry…m'so, _so_ sorry."

"De?" Sam's voice was reedy, heartbreakingly weak. "Y'kay?"

The addressed man felt a burn begin behind his eyes. "Yeah, Sammy, yeah," he replied warmly as he intertwined his sturdy fingers with his baby brother's long, lax ones. "And you're gonna be okay, too…help's on the way, Gordon's taken care of thanks to Bobby…and hey, you've got a pretty lady takin' care of _you_, what more could ya ask for," Dean soothed with a wink at Sam and a nod at Chelsea, the latter blushing sweetly as she continued to run delicate, comforting fingers through Sam's soft chestnut waves. He then grinned as Sam, noticing the girl's ministrations for the first time, blushed in turn while smiling shyly and shakily at her. "Aw, so bashful," he teased.

"Well, he's got nothing to be shy about," Chelsea responded before turning sincere blue eyes to Sam. "You saved my life, Sam…a-and I'm so sorry that you got hurt, if there's anything more I can do—" The young woman silenced herself as Sam raised a trembling hand to cover her own, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Jus'…jus' be okay," Sam whispered. "S'all I ask…move on fr'm this."

"I will," Chelsea promised. "But you have to be okay, too…all right? For me, for your older friend and your brother…for yourself. You didn't deserve any of this."

"Y's I did," the youngest hunter immediately corrected with a sad glance at Dean. "I…I lied…s-sorry."

"No, Sammy." Dean didn't let the self-flagellation go any further. "_I'm_ sorry, okay? I had no right to…to _abandon _you like that. Not after everything we've been through, not after you…not after you defended me in front of Gordon like you did. And I don't _care_ how you did it anymore…the point is that you saved me, saved Bobby…saved us all." His grip on Sam's hand tightened. "So you hold on, okay? 'Cause we've got so much more ahead of us, little brother, and I don't wanna experience any of it without ya, got me?" To Dean's dismay and growing fear, no answer came. "Sammy? Hey…c'mon, kiddo, talk to me."

"Dean?" Chelsea's voice was small and apprehensive. "Is he gonna be alright?"

The older brother was silent for a moment, feeling the increased tremors running through Sam's body that indicated he was likely going into shock…seeing his half-open eyes that occasionally fluttered closed and back open again in a disconcerting manner…smelling the coppery scent of the young psychic's blood that penetrated the air around them. But in his head, he heard his own reassuring words.

'_As long as I'm around, kid? Nothing bad is gonna happen to you.'_

Dean nodded to himself, meeting Chelsea's expectant eyes with renewed resolve. "Well, I'm still here…so in other words? Yeah…he will be."

And almost as if on cue, Bobby's voice then cut through the pregnant pause along with the wail of an approaching siren. "Get 'im ready to roll, Dean…the ambulance is just about here."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Dean and Bobby had been sitting in the waiting room for nearly an hour, they realized. The ambulance ride down to Appleton Medical Center had taken a harrowing turn when Sam unexpectedly coded halfway there, the blood loss and shock finally having become too much. The paramedics had, thank God, been able to revive him, but the damage had been done to Dean's psyche nonetheless…he didn't think he would ever forget the horrible sight of Sam's long body arching up from the gurney each time it was shocked with the paddles, lips pale and eyes closed in momentary death. More than anything, he couldn't wait to see those blue-greens open once again, clear and beautiful, expressive and sparkling with warmth and life…the way they should be.

And it didn't even matter that those same eyes had once turned black…not anymore.

Because as the two of them had learned the hard way, black eyes certainly weren't a requirement of being or becoming a monster…Gordon Walker had proven that without a doubt, and neither hunter mourned the man's death. Not even Dean, despite the numerous things he and Gordon had been through together…especially since Dean could now see through even those, looking back. It was all clear to him now…why he dismissed Gordon so readily and soon after Sam came onto the scene, why he never could shake the deep-down reservations he felt around the man even when they had succeeded on and genuinely enjoyed a hunt…why he felt no real remorse or guilt concerning Gordon's death. The man had merely been a hunting partner, nothing more…not a best friend and a brother like Sam had proven to be…not a second father like Bobby had always been. The hunt had been their only connection.

But the brutality Gordon had employed on Sam and Chelsea had revealed the truth…the truth that, if it hadn't been there all along, certainly was there now. The man was not a _true_ hunter…and that one and only connection Dean felt to him had been severed beyond repair upon that realization. Because to the Winchesters, hunting was about saving people and killing evil things, and Gordon had ignored and violated those rules…severely. But he'd also paid for it in the end, deservedly…and Dean was pretty sure Bobby was no sorrier about that than he was. The subject remained unspoken between them, though…what was done was done, and it had_ needed_ to be done.

The police, miraculously, had agreed with the sentiment – to Dean and Bobby's immense relief and surprise. Twenty-seven year old Chelsea Frampton had seen to that, providing the detectives and investigators with an earnest, appropriately detailed account of how one Gordon Walker, psychotic murderer, had accosted her at her car and held her hostage. How he'd tortured Sam – an innocent young man who'd taken it upon himself to confront Gordon and protect her – and then tried to kill the boy's older brother, Dean, when he'd tried to protect Sam in turn_, _before finally being shot in self-defense by the brothers' nearby uncle, who carried a gun for safety on the mean streets. The officers hadn't looked too happy about Bobby's weapon possession, of course, but Chelsea had been so sincere and convincing that they'd dropped all charges against Dean and Bobby in the end, declaring it a clear-cut case of self-defense and defense of others, after the two of them gave their matching statements to Chelsea's.

After having been treated for a minor head injury, the young woman herself was now on her way home for a night of rest – or as much as she managed to get, anyway – but planned to return first thing in the morning to check up on Sam's progress and visit him if he was out of surgery by then…but the latter prospect was unfortunately still up in the air. It was the news that Dean and Bobby now waited on, after-hours, Sam's injuries having been severe and extensive enough to warrant them that privilege…if it could even be called a privilege, that was. They both knew that they'd much rather have been kicked out since visiting hours were long over than be sitting there powerless, with the uncertainty and anxiety of whether Sam would live or die still hanging over their bowed heads…which immediately raised upon the sudden voice of the nurse now standing in front of them.

"Family for Samuel Winchester?"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Three days had passed since they'd heard those four words…and Dean felt like he'd been on a rollercoaster ride. The first snippet of information they'd gotten on Sam had been that the surgeons had lost him on the table and resuscitation had been required…again. Things had then gotten better for a time before they bottomed out once more when Sam had a bad reaction to the blood transfusion they'd given him, prompting Dean to contribute as much of his own blood as he could to the cause – they were brothers, after all. And it had worked, relieving the older sibling to no end while simultaneously warming a place in his heart he'd never even known existed. The surgeries had then thankfully gone smoothly after that, the bullet wounds in Sam's side and shoulder not having hit anything vital, only requiring the simple process of cleaning up and patching up that Dean could've done in a motel room…and often had before on his father. But Sam had gotten lucky with his Achilles' tendon, which was able to be repaired since it wasn't cut through completely or precisely enough to paralyze him, as if Gordon had been sure that Sam was going to die that night and simply went for quick incapacitation instead of accuracy.

And Dean really wanted to raise the man up and kill him again for having done that to Sam, he had to admit.

But Gordon wouldn't be rising from the dead anytime soon, thanks to the binding spell and symbols that Bobby had discreetly placed on his body by sneaking down to the morgue when no one was looking. They would work until the ultimate surefire method, a good old salt-n-burn, was able to be performed.

That was a worry for later, though. Right now, it was all about Sam and his recovery…which was finally going well as attested to by the young psychic's currently open eyes, coherency, and alertness. Dean smiled down into the expressive orbs in a morning greeting. "Hey, kiddo…how long you been awake?"

"Not long," Sam replied, his voice still a bit whispery as he shifted in the hospital bed that was nearly too short for him. "I actually got some half-decent sleep last night."

Dean nodded. "I can tell…you gave me an answer instead of a blank, drugged-out stare this time. And your color's back, too," he pointed out as he took in the healthy pink of Sam's cheeks and lips, even though his skin tone wasn't quite back to its normal golden-tan yet. Dean winked at him. "Bet the next nurse that comes in here volunteers to give ya a sponge bath...'specially now that you've got my blood in ya!"

A dimple popped out on one of Sam's cheeks at the quip before slowly disappearing seconds later, a nervous, serious expression taking over the young face. "Okay…I don't really know what you're talkin' about with the blood, but Dean? Speaking of…there's somethin' I've gotta tell you. And I should've told you a long time ago, back when you first asked me for all of my history but I didn't know you that well yet and I was scared and I didn't wanna—"

"Whoa, whoa motor-mouth," Dean broke in with a gentle squeeze to Sam's good shoulder. "Isn't it a little too early in the morning for this kinda thing?"

"No." Sam shook his head sadly, long hair rustling against the thin pillow. "No…m'scared that it's too _late_. But I've gotta tell you anyway, and if you don't wanna…if...however you react to it…I'll understand, okay? Don't…don't hold back."

"Back at ya."

"Okay…well…" Sam took a deep breath – after checking to make sure the room was clear of medical staff of course, lest he be put in the psych ward – before exhaling the damning words. "I've got demon blood in me."

Soulful blue-green eyes met slowly widening green ones in apprehension and naked honesty for a moment, and then closed in sadness as Sam waited to hear his sentence. Because seeing his older brother look at him the same way he had in that factory after those same eyes had turned black?

Would likely break him beyond all repair.

TBC…

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: And so ends that nasty Gordon! YAY Bobby! LOL. Poor Sammy, though…he sure had a rough time with the late Mr. Walker, but he seems to have healed just fine physically. _Emotionally_, though…well, obviously that's still a big question mark…and a lot of it depends on how Dean reacts to this final and biggest revelation yet! So…will our favorite big brother come through once and for all?

It's all about ready to wrap up, folks, so a huge, huge thanks to my LLS for her consistent beta work, and to all of you who've stuck with me this far and have let me know you're enjoying…you're what's been making posting this story so much fun! And **ukfan101**, glad you enjoyed the update once again, and a talk will be coming, don't worry! LOL. The next – and last *sniffle* – chapter will be up Monday afternoon. :-)


	15. Chapter 15

DISCLAIMER: *weary sigh* Doesn't the word "disclaimer" say it all, really? ;-)

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Bless the Broken Road**

PREVIOUSLY: _Soulful blue-green eyes met slowly widening green ones in apprehension and naked honesty for a moment, and then closed in sadness as Sam waited to hear his sentence. Because seeing his older brother look at him the same way he had in that factory after those same eyes had turned black?_

_Would likely break him beyond all repair. _

**Chapter 15**

"Demon blood, eh?" One eyebrow rose on Dean's face at his little brother's harried, helpless statement. "You don't say."

Sam swallowed thickly, immediately but unsteadily launching into an explanation. "I didn't…I…when I was in Cold Oak, the Yellow-Eyed Demon showed me this scene from the past in a dream…I was a baby in it. He showed me how he stood over my crib and cut himself and bled into my mouth. And then I saw…" Moist blue-green eyes locked with Dean's. "I saw our mom."

"Mom?" Dean breathed out, all levity gone.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "She was…she was beautiful, and she tried to save me but by then the Demon had already dripped his blood in my mouth, he didn't tell me why, and he…he put Mom…"

"On the ceiling," Dean finished for him tonelessly. "I know."

"M'so sorry, Dean." Twin tears suddenly spilled over Sam's lower lashes. "She died because of me, trying to save me and I'm sorry…our dad obviously would've rather had her than me 'cause he gave me away and who can blame him since I'm a half-demonic fre—"

"No, Sammy," Dean cut off the mournful self-berating. "That's what that asshole Gordon said you were…that's not what _I_ say you are."

"But my eyes—"

"Were black, I saw," the older brother confirmed. "And after hearing about it I'm bettin' that demon blood had a little somethin' to do with that, but like I told Gordon…I don't care. 'Cause even while you had those black eyes you were sendin' those demons back to Hell instead of helping them, you were tryin' to save all of us…hell, even when you didn't know we were watchin' you, kid, like back in that Missouri warehouse? All I saw you doin' was _good_. Not evil." Dean reached over and gently thumbed a cascading droplet from Sam's cheek. "You may've had one physical attribute of a demon thanks to that blood-feeding when you were a baby, which, by the way, was definitely no fault of your own since you _were_ only a baby…but you've got no demon characteristics where it _counts_ – in the heart and mind and soul. Understand?"

Sam nodded reluctantly but didn't let it drop. "You mean I still _do_ have the attribute, though. I've…I've still got this blood in me, Dean…and it's nothing I can ever rip out or scrub clean, and apparently now it makes me _turn_ whenever I'm using my powers as strong as they can get and—"

"Hold up, there, emo-boy," Dean interrupted with a raised hand. "I'm not so sure about that."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Do you know what all's happened to you since you got here, to the hospital?"

"No," the younger man answered in a quiet voice. "I've kinda been out of it all the rest of the time…I heard all of you in here, and I heard the doctors talking to you, but..." Sam shook his head. "None of what they were saying really registered with me…at least not on a level where I could understand it."

"Well then…guess I get to fill you in," Dean declared as he made himself comfortable. "First off, you're gonna be okay. They stitched up the bullet wounds along with your Achilles' tendon…it wasn't cut precisely or deeply enough to lead to paralysis." The older Winchester smiled at Sam's resonant sigh of relief. "Yeah, that's about what I said. But there was one other major thing that happened" – _besides you havin' to be brought back to life twice, which we'll deal with later… _– "and that was you havin' to have a blood transfusion…you'd lost too much from your wounds and tendon."

Sam's face went nearly as white as the sheets. "Oh God…they saw my blood? They…they analyzed it, didn't they? 'Cause they have to before they do one of those and oh God they probably _know_, they probably saw…"

"Saw what?" Dean shrugged. "Sulfur?"

"Or something like that!" Sam added, inwardly balking at Dean's casual attitude toward the situation. "Something abnormal, something…_wrong_." The young psychic looked down, nervously wringing his now trembling hands.

"Guess again, kiddo." Dean watched as Sam's shaggy brown head shot up again at the unexpected reply.

"What? What're you…what do you mean?"

"Well," the elder sibling began, "here's the thing. Your body rejected the first transfusion they tried on you." He held up a hand at Sam's horrified eyes and imminent response. "BUT…before they did that first one they asked me if I'd be willing to give you some of my blood in case they needed a fallback. And since we're brothers, I figured why the hell not…we should have compatible blood, right? Let me finish," he reprimanded once again. "But the docs had told me that sometimes that isn't always the case, so before the first transfusion they took samples of your blood and mine, and then compared 'em to make sure they were similar enough _while _that first one was being conducted. And when they _did_ need me for that _second_ transfusion, they were ready…and you know what?"

Another tear threatened to leak from Sam's eyes. "My blood was weird…it didn't take," he supplied dejectedly. Dean shook his head.

"No, Sam," he corrected. "Your blood was no different from mine…in any measure that counted. And the second transfusion worked."

"What?" Sam's shock and relief were both palpable. Green eyes crinkled as Dean smiled.

"Yep…that's what I meant when I said that now you had my blood in ya, kiddo. So watch out for oncoming chicks," he winked.

"Then my blood was…_normal_?" the young Winchester whispered, almost as if afraid speaking the word too loud would jinx the truth of it.

"As me gettin' a waitress's phone number every time I go out to eat, kid."

Sam was stunned into speechlessness for a moment before a small smirk lightened his features. "So am I supposed to be encouraged by that analogy or something?"

"Ha ha," Dean dryly replied, though his heart was secretly cheering at Sam's restored wit. "See if I ever give you any stud blood again."

"Stud blood?" Sam repeated, nearly choking on a laugh. "Now I know you're joking."

"Dude," Dean scoffed, indicating his well-built physique with a hand gesture. "Does this look like a joke to you?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You really want me to answer that, short stuff?"

"Hey! I'm not short…you're just freakishly tall," Dean shot back but then winced at his word choice. To his dismay, Sam had picked up on it as well and the banter turned back to seriousness.

"Speaking of freaks…"

"Sammy—"

"I know, I know," the young psychic placated in response to Dean's warning tone. "You don't consider me a freak…but, the analysis…am I really _not_ one anymore? No demonic stuff in my blood?"

"Sammy, according to your big brother, according to Bobby, and according to the medical world, you are now 100 percent pain-in-the-ass human."

"But…but how?" Sam persisted. "I saw Yellow-Eyes drip blood into my mouth, you saw my eyes turn black…why would I suddenly be normal now?"

"Ya know…maybe that's just it," Dean mused aloud before turning to Sam. "Yeah…I bet that _is_ it."

"What…what's it?"

"That _exorcism_ was it…for the demon blood inside of you, that is," Dean answered assuredly. "I mean, this was your biggest exorcism yet, right? Had you ever pulled more than one demon at a time before that?"

"No…"

"Exactly. You were tappin' into your full arsenal back there, man, and I'm pretty sure you used it all too, especially at that point where your eyes changed."

"So…" Sam gaze was confused and uncertain. "What are you tryin' to say?"

"I'm sayin' that the demon blood left you right along with those demons leavin' their hosts, kiddo," Dean explained as he met Sam's eyes. "You needed every last type of fuel you had inside ya to finish that job, including the blood…and you took all of _that_ particular fuel you needed. You shot your entire payload, maxed all that stuff right out of ya…you're clean now, Sammy."

Sam's eyes widened impossibly further, his breathing picking up speed and intensity. "I…you mean…it's _gone_?"

"With the wind, dude," Dean grinned. "I'll bet those black eyes were nothing more than the blood's last hurrah…that stuff leavin' your system once and for all."

"Oh God," Sam exhaled shakily in unfathomable relief. "Oh God, I never…I thought…I—"

"_Easy_, easy kiddo," Dean soothed with a gentle pat to his baby brother's heaving chest. "Don't hyperventilate on me…would hate to see ya back in that oxygen mask. And here I thought you'd be breathin' easier now…"

Sam nodded vigorously. "No, I am, it's just…I didn't think I was ever gonna get rid of that stuff…"

"I know, little bro…I know. I can understand that," Dean sympathized. "But now? You're rid of it," he smiled.

"But what about my powers," Sam suddenly remembered, anxiety leaping into his gaze once more. "Do you think I'm rid of those…that they went away with the blood?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer but then paused in thought…for some reason, he couldn't shake the suspicion that Sam somehow still had his powers, for better or worse. And he had a strong feeling that the 'worse' option would likely send his sibling back into the throes of despair and worry again, so he went with the 'better' instead…which just happened to be the option of the two he truly believed himself, anyway. "Guess that's a pretty good question, dude…but really? What should it matter either way?"

"Excuse me?" Sam blurted incredulously. Dean held up a calming hand.

"Hear me out, man. Option one, you don't have the powers anymore, they left with the demon blood…poof, you don't even have to worry about 'em anymore. Option two…you've still got them, but think of it this way. If the demon blood is gone, but the powers are still there, what would that tell you?" Dean questioned rhetorically. "That maybe, just maybe…your powers had nothing to do with the demon blood in the first place. That maybe…your powers were born of something _good_ instead of something evil. You follow me?"

"Yeah," Sam replied after a brief hesitation. "But…you don't think it's possible that the demon blood was in me for so long that it left a permanent imprint on me in the form of those powers? Or, if my powers really _did_ start out good, that the blood melded with them somehow from the moment it got inside of me?"

"Again, so what if it did?" his big brother shrugged. "The blood's gone now…only the powers left. So you don't have to worry about it ever possibly corrupting them again. And if it's the other case…same thing. Same weight and worry off your shoulders. And hey, maybe even without the blood, doin' those mental exorcisms will stop hurting you…notice that this time, your nose didn't even bleed, no headache…and this was your biggest exorcism yet. Another bad thing gone with the bad blood, maybe?"

"Maybe…"

"And if you do still have the powers, I know someone who can help you with 'em anytime you need it…a fellow _good _psychic that even Dad trusted. We'll go see her when you feel up to it…and when _I_ feel up to it. Backside's still sore from the last time she took that damn spoon to me…"

Sam's eyebrows lifted comically. "A spoon?"

"You'll understand when ya meet her." Dean smiled fondly as he turned earnest eyes toward Sam, continuing on. "But kiddo, any way you swing things, when it comes to those powers of yours? It seems to me like you've always used what could've been a curse, and made somethin' good out of it instead…saving people and killing demons instead of vice-versa, when it'd be so easy to just…take over the world Pinky and the Brain style, or somethin' fun like that." The elder Winchester suppressed an amused grin at Sam's raised brow. "See? That look tells me that never crossed your mind, did it…and now that I've put it out there, does it_ sound_ like somethin' you wanna do?"

"Uh…no…" Sam answered as if any other response would've been ridiculous.

"Then what _do_ you wanna do?"

"I…I wanna keep doing what I'm doing, saving people, hunting evil things…but…I wanna keep doing it with _you_." The kid looked of all of five years old as he stared up at Dean nervously and imploringly through his long bangs. "I mean, if it's _okay_ with you, that is. 'Cause if it's not I'll understand and I can just—"

"Just nothin', dude," the older man finished for him. "'Cause that sounds _A_-OK to me."

Hopefulness and happiness flooded Sam's wide blue-greens all at once. "Really?"

"You're my little brother, kiddo," Dean replied with a warm smile as he tucked a flyaway curl behind Sam's left ear. "Like or not…you're stuck with me from now on."

The dimpled smile that overtook his kid brother's face practically lit the room as the younger man nodded in acceptance, soulful eyes meeting Dean's. "I'm pretty sure I'm gonna like it…"

And standing just outside the doorway, having overheard the whole conversation unbeknownst to his young friends, Bobby Singer gave a contented smile of his own. _Me too, boy…me too._

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

---_Epilogue---_

"Dude, for the last time, shut up."

"Aw, come on," Dean grinned at his red-faced younger sibling. "I for one think the old broad was pretty observant…you two _do_ look cute together," he sing-songed with a ridiculous bat of his eyelashes. "And she so totally likes you…_her hero_."

"Deeeean…" Sam groaned, feeling the heat spread all the way across his face and down the back of his neck. "Chelsea was just…_thanking me_. It didn't mean anything other than that."

"Uh-huh…and that applied to _both_ times, right?" Dean challenged with a self-satisfied smirk and raised brow. Sam glared.

"You're not gonna let this go, are you."

"Nope."

"Whatever…can we at least take it out of the public eye, though?" Sam begged as he lowered his blue-green orbs to the ground to hide under wisps of chestnut hair.

Dean took in the bustling crowd of people in South Dakota's Canton Municipal Airport and finally relented, taking mercy on the kid. "Yeah….but then I'm pickin' it right back up," he promised with a wink. After all, it _was_ pretty much impossible not to tease and laugh at the memory of the old woman who'd, minutes ago, adoringly told Sam that he and Chelsea Frampton made 'such a lovely couple'…after she witnessed the young blonde give his sibling a short, sweet, and totally unexpected parting kiss on the lips before heading to her gate. _And add that to the one she planted on him yesterday…_

Of course, Dean knew, Sam would claim _that _one was just because it was his birthday party. He and Bobby had celebrated the youngest Winchester's 26th at Singer Salvage Yard one day early in order to accommodate their two invited guests, who were both working women. And to their delight, both Chelsea and Nurse Teresa Nichols were able and glad to attend, helping the two older men to give the kid they'd come to know and love in the span of a mere month a truly _happy_ birthday. Sam had been surprised and touched, blushing profusely the entire time but _especially_ at the end of the day when Chelsea had wordlessly stood on her tiptoes and given him a quick peck on the cheek…much to Dean's delight. He had ribbed his younger brother about the incident for the rest of the night, and now had new, even stronger ammo thanks to the recent impromptu airport smooch.

The elder Winchester kept grinning to himself as they made their way out of the airport and to the parked Impala, the going a little slower than usual since Sam was still on crutches for the time being as his ankle healed. He'd finally been discharged from the hospital three days after they'd had their first real talk, with the standard instructions to take it easy and stay off his bad ankle until his local doctor declared it good enough again. Of course, Sam hadn't had any local doctor to speak of at that point, but Bobby had quickly rectified that situation upon their return to South Dakota…just as surely as he'd rectified the Gordon Walker situation once and for all, leaving his salt and burn to a trusted colleague of his that had happened to be in the Wisconsin area.

_Good riddance_ had been Dean's immediate thought upon learning that the job had been done…he didn't miss the late _so-called_ hunter. Not one bit…and _especially_ not now that he had Sam at his side. Reaching his baby, he unlocked her door for the kid and gingerly helped him into the passenger side, depositing his crutches into the backseat.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it, bro," Dean waved off. "Comfy?"

Sam nodded as his older brother slid behind the wheel and started the engine, the car's throaty rumble almost drowning out his soft reply. "Well, my legs are a little cramped as always, but…I'll live."

"That's 'cause you've got _freakishly long_ legs, Sasquatch," Dean quipped with a smirk, pleased to note that Sam no longer flinched at any semblance of the 'F' word. "Although…I bet'cha Chelsea likes 'em. I bet she likes _everything_ of yours," he couldn't help but add with a waggle of his eyebrows. Sam's hand shot out to crank up the radio in response to the taunts.

"Sorry," he spoke loudly as he tried to hide his blush. "I didn't catch that!"

Dean huffed. "Well, no wonder with this racket on the radio," he grumbled upon hearing grating dance music blaring through the speakers. "How the hell did it get on this shit?" The Impala's speed briefly slowed as her owner pulled a cardboard box out from under his seat and handed it to Sam. "Here…pick us out somethin' good. Although," he grinned smugly as Sam accepted the box, "_everything_'s good in there." A moment of silence passed, and then…

"Are you kidding me?" Sam blurted incredulously as he sat the worn cardboard on his lap, staring down at its contents. "Wow…you _seriously_ need to invest in a new music library, bro."

"Says who," Dean scoffed. "Name one thing that's wrong with any of the tapes I've got."

"Oh I don't know, maybe the fact that they're _cassette tapes_?" Sam remarked pointedly as he rummaged through Dean's collection of classics. "Motorhead, Metallica…dude. These are like the greatest hits of mullet rock."

"House rules, little bro," Dean shrugged with a grin. "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole." Green eyes then narrowed in thought. "Well…except on special occasions, maybe."

"Such as?"

"Such as…today." Dean's smile went from teasing to warm as he patted the kid on the shoulder. "Happy birthday, Sammy…have at it. Shotgun picks the music for today…limited time offer."

"Really?" Sam questioned.

"Really."

The younger man smiled. "Cool. Well then…guess we won't be needing these," he stated as he shoved Dean's box of cassette tapes back under the seat. "I've got something different in mind."

"Let me guess, you like that emo-rock type stuff, don't ya," Dean groused playfully with an eye roll. "Like, uh…Disco Boy Romance, Panic at the Chemical Fallout…that kind of thing."

"Um, okay, first off, I think you mean Panic at the Disco, My Chemical Romance, and Fallout Boy…and some of their stuff's okay, but I don't know…I guess my first choice would be contemporary modern rock. Not too poppy but not too heavy metal, either…moderate stuff. Mostly singer-songwriter types of artists and bands."

"Hmm…okay, tolerable," Dean nodded. "I mean, at least you didn't say rap, or Britney Spears…or…_techno_." The elder brother visibly shuddered at the final word.

"Hell, no," Sam snorted. "I'm not _that_ bad," he defended himself as he turned the radio dial before finally stopping on a song that had just started. "Some country artists are pretty decent too, mostly the crossover types…this'll work for now."

"_Sammy_," the older man rolled his eyes again. "Dean Winchester does not do country."

"Well, _Dean Winchester_ just relinquished his radio rights to his brother on his birthday, if you'll recall…so _he's_ the one who has to shut his cakehole now, I'm afraid," Sam grinned smugly. "Just for a day…it won't kill ya."

"Fine," the elder sibling yielded, settling back in to lightly sulk as he reluctantly left the dial alone, listening offhandedly…

_'I set out on a narrow way__  
Many years ago'…_

…but by the time the second repetition of the chorus began, he found himself actually hearing and intently _absorbing_ what the current song was saying.

'_Every long lost dream led me to where you are  
Others who broke my heart, they were like northern stars  
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms  
This much I know is true…'_

Unexpectedly moved, Dean chanced a glance at Sam to find that the kid was also discreetly looking at him in his sharing of the sentiment, and he couldn't have agreed more with the song's main lyric as he drank in the sight of his little brother – once lost to him for so many years, but now found…there _with him _to stay. So he let the words play on, content and infinitely grateful that the hole in his heart he'd once never even known he had…was now fully and forever filled at last.

'_That God blessed the broken road  
That led me straight to you.'_

-o-o-o-o-o- THE END -o-o-o-o-o-

A/N: Well there you have it, folks! In case you're curious, Sam's preferences in musical genres were actually loosely based on Jared's preferences, which he mentioned when asked about them at September 2008's EyeCon. He said that what he listens to varies quite often, but that he especially likes today's singer-songwriter types…fun fact – and one that we have in common! LOL.

And to the more serious side, we've ended up with a Sam whose powers possibly came from an unknown good rather than a known evil, and therefore and/or in any case, can now use them without fear of going dark side now that the demon blood has been spent…possible? I certainly think so! I think that's the way it should turn out on the show, personally…Ruby herself said that Sam didn't need the feather (the extra demon blood) to fly (have/hone his abilities), after all. Besides a happy ending for the boys, that's the thing I want to see most on the show – Sam using his powers and it being portrayed as _good_…and Dean being able to see it as good. Just as he ultimately (you called it, **ukfan101**! LOL) was able to see it here in this fic…YAY Dean! And so our favorite brothers begin life anew…_together_. Which, you guessed it…makes this story a done deal.

And that makes me feel both good and sad, because it's definitely been a fun and fulfilling one to write. It also makes me feel _bad _since so many of you didn't want it to end! LOL. But that particular fact makes me feel – most of all – _accomplished_…and very, very grateful! I'm so glad that you all enjoyed this _not-so_-little AU of mine, and I honestly never dreamed of how much of a hit it would be! That in mind, I'm keeping the door open for the possibility of a sequel set in this same 'verse, even though there's nothing definite in mind so far…but I'll think on it!

For now, though, one final HUGE thank you goes to my LLS (**psiChic**) – who never once left me hanging without a freshly beta-ed chapter – and to all those who read, alerted, favorited, and of course, reviewed this story…your support and kind comments throughout were appreciated more than words can say, and made me look forward to posting an update about as much as y'all looked forward to receiving one! LOL. But alas, this was the last one for this tale…so, until the muse moves me again toward some concrete inspiration and idea for a new fic, take care everybody and I hope to see you back next time…which will hopefully be soon, of course! Final thoughts are love! :-D

-PsychicWonderKitty


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